ersity  of  Californii 
mthern  Regional 
abrary  Facility 


am  a  heritage  because  I 
brln£  you  years  of  tboucjbt 
and  tbe  lore  of  time  ^ 
I  impart  yet  I  can  oot  speal6" 
I  bave  traveled  arnon^  tbe 
peoples  of  tbe  eartb  -^  I 
am  a  rover-^  Oft-tln?es 
I  str^y  jrorr?  tbe/lreslde, 
of  tbe  owe.  wbo  loves  and 
cbertsbes  r^e-ujbo 

n?e  tuber?  I  an? 

Should  you/lpd 
n?e  va^rar?t  please  send 


brotbers-on  tbe 
sbelves   of 


*       - 


V 


PROPERTY  OF 
W.  JL  B.ARGBEAYE& 


The  WORKS  of  VOLTAIRE 

EDITION  DE  LA  PACIFICATION 

Limited  to  one  thousand  sett 
for  America  and  Great  Britain. 


"Between  two  servants  of  Humanity,  to  ho  appeared 
eighteen  hundred  years  apart,  there  is  a  mysterious  relation. 
*  *  *  *  Let  us  say  it  with  a  sentiment  of 
profound  respect:  JESUS  WEPT:  VOLTAIRE  SMILED. 
Of  that  divine  tear  and  of  that  human  smile  is  composed  the 
sweetness  of  the  present  civilization." 

VICTOR   HUGO. 


- 


VOUTAIRE      AND      RRANKl-IN 


EDITION  DE  LA   PACIFICATION 


THE  WORKS  OF 

VOLTAIRE 


A  CONTEMPORARY  VERSION 

WITH  NOTES  BY  TOBIAS  SMOLLETT,  REVISED  AND  MODERNIZED 

NEW  TRANSLATIONS  BY  WILLIAM  F.  FLEMING,  AND  AN 

INTRODUCTION  BY  OLIVER  H.  G.  LEIGH 


A  CRITIQUE  AND    BIOGRAPHY 
BY 

THE  RT.  HON.  JOHN  MORLEY 


FORTY-THREE    VOLUMES 

OMB   HUNDRED   AND  SIXTY-BIGHT  DESIGNS,   COMPRISING   REPRODUCTIONS 

OF    KAJtB  OLD   ENGRAVINGS,  STEEL  PLATES,   PHOTOGRAVURES, 

AMD  CURIOUS  PAC-SIMILES 


VOLUME   I 


AKRON,    OHIO 

THE    WERNER    COMPANY 
1906 


COPYRIGHT  1901 
BT  E.  R.  DUMONT 

OWNED  BY 

THE  WERNER  COMPANY 
AKRON,  OHIO 


fME    WERNER    COMPANV 
AMOK,    OHIO 


Stack 
tana* 

PQ 
2075 

F5S6 
1906 


INTRODUCTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL 
VICTOR  HUGO'S  ORATION 

CANDIDE 
POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS 

VOL.  I 


CONTENTS 


PACE 

PUBLISHERS'  PREFACE 5 

INTRODUCTION 9 

THE  MANY-SIDED  VOLTAIRE    .        .        .        .14 

INCIDENTS  IN  His  LIFE 15 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  ON  VOLTAIRE    ...  32 

His  LIFE  PURPOSE 39 

VICTOR  HUGO'S  ORATION         ....  44 

CANDIDE;  OR,  THE  OPTIMIST    ....  59 

PART  II      ...                 .         .  209 
POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS: 

ON  EQUALITY  OF  CONDITIONS  .        .        .  283 

ON  LIBERTY 289 

ON  THE  NATURE  OF  MAN         .        .        .  295 

ON  MODERATION  IN  ALL  THINGS     .        .  302 


LIST  OF  PLATES 
VOL.  I 

PACK 

MEETING  OF  VOLTAIRE  AND  FRANKLIN 

Frontispiece 

VICTOR  HUGO 44 

CANDIDE  REMOVES  Miss  CUNEGUND'S  VEIL   .         84 
VIRTUE  TRIUMPHANT  OVER  VICE   .  282 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 

Students  of  Voltaire  need  not  be  told  that  nearly 
every  important  circumstance  in  connection  with 
the  history  of  this  extraordinary  man,  from  his 
birth  to  the  final  interment  of  his  ashes  in  the 
Pantheon  at  Paris,  is  still  matter  of  bitter  con- 
troversy. 

If,  guided  in  our  judgment  by  the  detractors  of 
Voltaire,  we  were  to  read  only  the  vituperative  pro- 
ductions of  the  sentimentalists,  the  orthodox  critics  of 
the  schools,  the  Dr.  Johnsons,  the  Abbe  Maynards, 
Voltaire  would  still  remain  the  most  remarkable 
man  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Even  the  most 
hostile  critics  admit  that  he  gave  his  name  to  an 
epoch  and  that  his  genius  changed  the  mental,  the 
spiritual,  and  the  political  conformation,  not  only 
of  France  but  of  the  civilized  world.  The  anti- 
Voltairean  literature  concedes  that  Voltaire  was 
the  greatest  literary  genius  of  his  age,  a  master  of 
language,  and  that  his  historical  writings  effected 
a  revolution.  Lord  Macaulay,  an  unfriendly  critic, 
says:  "Of  all  the  intellectual  weapons  that  have 
ever  been  wielded  by  man,  the  most  terrible  was  the 
mockery  of  Voltaire.  Bigots  and  tyrants  who  had 
never  been  moved  by  the  wailings  and  cursings  of 
millions,  turned  pale  at  his  name."  That  still  more 

5 


6  Publisher's  Preface. 

hostile  authority,  the  evangelical  Guizot,  the  emi- 
nent French  historian,  makes  the  admission  that 
"innate  love  of  justice  and  horror  of  fanaticism 
inspired  Voltaire  with  his  zeal  in  behalf  of  perse- 
cuted Protestants,"  and  that  Voltaire  contributed 
most  powerfully  to  the  triumphs  of  those  concep- 
tions of  Humanity,  Justice,  and  Freedom  which  did 
honor  to  the  eighteenth  century. 

Were  we  to  form  an  estimate  of  Voltaire's  char- 
acter and  transcendent  ability  through  such  a  tem- 
perate non-sectarian  writer  as  the  Hon.  John  Mor- 
ley,  we  would  conclude  with  him  that  when  the 
right  sense  of  historical  proportion  is  more  fully 
developed  in  men's  minds,  the  name  of  Voltaire 
will  stand  out  like  the  names  of  the  great  decisive 
movements  in  the  European  advance,  like  the  Re- 
vival of  Learning,  or  the  Reformation,  and  that  the 
existence,  character,  and  career  of  Voltaire  consti- 
tute in  themselves  a  new  and  prodigious  era.  We 
would  further  agree  with  Morley,  that  "no  sooner 
did  the  rays  of  Voltaire's  burning  and  far-shining 
spirit  strike  upon  the  genius  of  the  time,  seated 
dark  and  dead  like  the  black  stone  of  Memnon's 
statue,  than  the  clang  of  the  breaking  chord  was 
heard  through  Europe  and  men  awoke  in  a  new 
day  and  more  spacious  air."  And  we  would  prob- 
ably say  of  Voltaire  what  he  magnanimously  said 
of  his  contemporary,  Montesquieu,  that  "humanity 
had  lost  its  title-deeds  and  he  had  recovered  them." 

Were  we  acquainted  only  with  that  Voltaire  de- 


Publisher's  Preface.  7 

scribed  by  Goethe,  Hugo,  Pompery,  Bradlaugh, 
Paine,  and  Ingersoll,  we  might  believe  with  Inger- 
soll  that  it  was  Voltaire  who  sowed  the  seeds  of 
liberty  in  the  heart  and  brain  of  Franklin,  Jeffer- 
son, and  Thomas  Paine,  and  that  he  did  more  to 
free  the  human  race  than  any  other  of  the  sons  of 
men.  Hugo  says  that  "between  two  servants  of 
humanity  which  appeared  eighteen  hundred  years 
apart,  there  was  indeed  a  mysterious  relation,"  and 
we  might  even  agree  that  the  estimate  of  the  young 
philanthropist  fidouard  de  Pompery  was  temperate 
when  he  said,  "Voltaire  was  the  best  Christian  of 
his  times,  the  first  and  most  glorious  disciple  of 
Jesus." 

So  whatever  our  authority,  no  matter  how  lim- 
ited our  investigation,  the  fact  must  be  recognized 
that  Voltaire,  who  gave  to  France  her  long-sought 
national  epic  in  the  Henriadc,  was  in  the  front  rank 
of  her  poets.  For  nearly  a  century  his  tragedies 
and  dramas  held  the  boards  to  extravagant  ap- 
plause. Even  from  his  enemies  we  learn  that  he 
kept  himself  abreast  of  his  generation  in  all  depart- 
ments of  literature,  and  won  the  world's  homage  as 
a  king  of  philosophers  in  an  age  of  philosophers 
and  encyclopaedists. 

He  was  the  father  of  modern  French,  clear,  un- 
ambiguous, witty  without  buffoonery,  convincing 
without  truculency,  dignified  without  effort.  He 
constituted  himself  the  defender  of  humanity,  toler- 


8  Publisher's  Preface. 

ance,  and  justice,  and  his  influence,  like  his  popu- 
larity, increases  with  the  diffusion  of  his  ideas. 

No  matter  what  the  reader's  opinion  of  Voltaire's 
works  may  be,  it  will  readily  be  conceded  that  with- 
out these  translations  of  his  comedies,  tragedies, 
poems,  romances,  letters,  and  incomparable  his- 
tories, the  literature  of  the  world  would  sustain  an 
immeasurable  loss,  and  that  these  forty-two  ex- 
quisite volumes  will  endure  as  a  stately  monument, 
alike  to  the  great  master  and  the  book-maker's  art- 
craft  he  did  so  much  to  inspire.  E.  R.  D. 


INTRODUCTION. 

BY  OLIVER  H.  G.   LEIGH. 

Voltaire  wrote  of  himself,  "I,  who  doubt  of 
everything."  If,  in  this  laudable  habit  of  taking 
second  thoughts,  some  one  should  ask  what  were 
the  considerations  that  prompted  this  exceptional 
reproduction  of  what  is  a  literature  rather  than  a 
one-man  work,  they  are  indicated  in  these  Reasons 
Why: 

1.  Because  the  Voltaire  star  is  in  the  ascendant. 
The  most  significant  feature  of  the  literary  activity 
now  at  its  height  has  been  the  vindication  of  famous- 
historic    characters    from    the    misconceptions    and 
calumnies  of  writers  who  catered  to  established  pre- 
judice or  mistook  biassed  hearsay  for  facts.     We 
have  outgrown  the  weakling  period  in  which  we 
submissively  accepted  dogmatical  portrayals  of,  for 
example,  Napoleon  as  a  demon  incarnate,  or  Wash- 
ington as  a  demi-god.    We  have  learned  that  great 
characters  are  dwarfed  or  distorted  when  viewed  in 
any  light  but  that  of  midday  in  the  open.     His- 
torians and  biographers  must  hereafter  be  content 
to  gather  and  exhibit  impartially  the  whole  facts 
concerning  their  hero,  and  thus  assist  their  readers 
as  a  judge  assists  his  competent  jury. 

2.  Because,  among  the  admittedly  great  figures 

9 


io  Introduction. 

who  have  suffered  from  this  defective  focussing,  no 
modern  has  surpassed,  if  indeed  any  has  equalled, 
Voltaire  in  range  and  brilliance  of  a  unique  intel- 
lect, or  in  long-sustained  and  triumphant  battling 
with  the  foes  of  mental  liberty.  Every  writer  of 
eminence  from  his  day  to  ours  has  borne  testimony 
to  Voltaire's  marvellous  qualities ;  even  his  bitterest 
theological  opponents  pay  homage  to  his  sixty 
years'  ceaseless  labors  in  the  service  of  men  and 
women  of  all  creeds  and  of  none.  The  time  has 
come  when  the  posterity  for  whose  increased  hap- 
piness he  toiled  and  fought  are  demanding  an  op- 
portunity to  know  this  apostle  of  progress  at  first- 
hand. They  wish  to  have  access  to  the  vast  body  of 
varied  writings  which  hitherto  have  been  a  sealed 
book  except  to  the  few.  For  this  broad  reason,  in 
recognition  of  the  growing  desire  for  a  closer 
acquaintance  with  the  great  and  subtle  forces  of 
human  progress,  it  has  been  determined  to  place 
Voltaire,  the  monarch  of  literature,  and  the  man, 
before  the  student  of  character  and  influence,  in 
this  carefully  classified  form. 

3.  Because  the  field  of  world-literature  is  being 
explored  as  never  before,  and  in  it  Voltaire's  garden 
has  the  gayest  display  of  flowers.  The  French 
genius  has  more  sparkle  and  its  speech  a  finer 
adaptability  than  ours.  First  among  the  illustrious, 
most  versatile  of  the  vivacious  writers  of  his  nation, 
Voltaire  wielded  his  rapier  quill  with  a  dexterity 
unapproached  by  his  contemporaries  or  successors. 


Introduction.  1 1 

It  still  dazzles  as  it  flashes  in  the  sunshine  of  the  wit 
that  charmed  even  those  it  cut  the  deepest.  Where 
his  contemporary  reformers,  and  their  general  clan 
to  this  day,  deal  blows  whose  effectiveness  is 
blunted  by  their  clumsiness,  this  champion  showed 
how  potent  an  ally  wisely  directed  ridicule  may 
become  in  the  hands  of  a  master.  Every  page  of 
his  books  and  brochures  exemplifies  Lady  Wortley 
Montagu's  maxim: 

Satire  should,  like  a  polished  razor  keen, 
Wound  with  a  touch  that's  scarcely  felt  or  seen. 

But  when  blood-letting  was  needed  the  Voltaire 
pen  became  a  double-edged  lancet. 

4.  Because  biography  is  coming  into  higher  ap- 
preciation, as  it  should.  A  man's  face  is  the  best 
introduction  to  his  writings,  and  the  facts  of  his  life 
make  the  best  commentary  on  them.  Where  is  there 
the  like  of  that  extraordinary,  fascinating,  enigmat- 
ical, contradictory  physiognomy  of  Voltaire?  And 
where  is  there  a  life  so  packed  with  experiences  to 
match?  His  writings  mirror  the  mind  and  the  life. 
Philosopher,  historian,  poet,  theologian,  statesman, 
political  economist,  radical  reformer,  diplomatist, 
philanthropist,  polemic,  satirist,  founder  of  indus- 
tries, friend  of  kings  and  outlaws,  letter-writer, 
knight-errant,  and  Boccaccio-Chauceresque  teller 
of  tales,  Voltaire  was  all  these  during  his  sixty-two 
years  of  inexhaustible  literary  activity.  "None  but 
himself  could  be  his  parallel."  No  other  author's 
works  combine  such  brilliant  persiflage  with  such 


12  Introduction. 

masculine  sense,  or  exhibit  equal  fighting  powers 
graced  by  equal  perfection  of  literary  style. 

5.  Because  Voltaire  stands  as  an  entertainer  in 
a  class  apart  from  others,  such  as  Balzac,  Hugo, 
and  his  country's  novelists  and  poets.    They  bring 
us  draughts  from  the  well  in  their  richly  chased 
cups;    Voltaire  gives  us  the  spring,  out  of  which 
flows  an  exhaustless  stream  of  all  that  makes  fiction 
alluring,    poetry    beautiful,    epigram    memorable, 
common    sense    uncommonly    forceful,    and    cour- 
ageous truth-speaking  contagious.     His  delicious 
humor  and  mordant  sarcasm  amuse,  but  they  also 
inspire.     There  is  moral  purpose  in  every  play  of 
his  merry  fancy.    Every  stroke  tells.    A  mere  story, 
however  charming,  has  its  climax,  and  then  an  end, 
but  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  read  any  page  in  any 
book  of  Voltaire's,  be  it  dry  history,  grave   phi- 
losophy, plain  narrative,  or  what  not,  without  some 
chance  thought,  suggestion,  or  happy  turn  of  phrase 
darting  out  and  fixing  itself  in  one's  mind,  where 
it  breeds  a  progeny  of  bright  notions  which  we 
fondly  make  believe  are  our  own. 

6.  Because,  lastly,  no  private  library  worthy  the 
name  is  complete  without  Voltaire.     French  edi- 
tions are  found  upon  the  most-used  book-shelves  of 
collectors  who  revel  in  the  treasures  of  French  liter- 
ature, but  the  present  edition  has  the  advantage, 
besides  the  prime  one  of  being  in  strong,  nervous 
English,  of  a  methodical  arrangement  which  will 
prove  helpful  to  every  reader;  also  it  gives  closer 


Introduction.  13 

and  more  acceptable  readings  of  many  passages,  in 
original  translation  and  in  paraphrase. 

The  original  notes  by  Dr.  Smollett,  author  of 
"Humphrey  Clinker,"  and  other  racy  novels  of 
eighteenth-century  life,  are  retained  where  helpful 
or  in  his  characteristic  vein.  So  are  Ireland's  lively 
and  edifying  commentaries  on  La  Pucelle,  rich  in 
historical  and  antiquarian  interest. 

Lovers  of  Goldsmith — who  never  had  an  enemy 
but  himself — will  welcome  the  charming  pages  here 
rescued  from  his  least-read  miscellanies,  in  which 
he  draws  the  mental  and  personal  portrait  of  Vol- 
taire, whose  genius  he  cordially  admired,  and  whose 
character  he  champions.  The  critical  study  of  Vol- 
taire by  the  Right  Honorable  John  Morley,  some 
time  a  member  of  Gladstone's  cabinet  and  his  biog- 
rapher, needs  no  other  commendation  than  its  au- 
thor's name. 

Victor  Hugo's  lofty  oration  on  the  hundredth 
anniversary  of  Voltaire's  death,  links  the  names  and 
fame  of  the  two  great  modern  writers  of  France. 
The  translations  and  textual  emendations  by  W.  F. 
Fleming  are  a  feature  of  this  edition. 

The  volumes  are  illuminated  by  as  artistic  and 
costly  pictures  as  can  be  procured.  The  antique 
flavor  of  the  contemporary  illustrations  is  preserved 
in  a  number  of  original  steel  engravings,  etchings, 
and  woodcuts,  besides  choice  photogravure  and  later 
process  plates.  The  volumes,  as  a  whole,  will  be 
recognized  as  an  ideal  example  of  typography  and 
chaste  binding. 


THE  MANY-SIDED  VOLTAIRE. 
Choose  any  of  Voltaire's  writings,  from  an  epi- 
gram to  a  book,  and  it  impresses  the  mind  with  a 
unique  sense  of  a  quality  which  it  would  be  absurd 
to  liken  to  omniscience,  though  mere  versatility  falls 
short  on  the  other  side.  So  the  tracing  of  his  life- 
experiences  leaves  us  puzzled  for  a  conventional 
term  that  shall  exactly  fit  the  case.  The  truth  is  that 
ordinary  terms  fail  when  applied  to  this  man  and  to 
his  works.  It  is  unprofitable  to  measure  a  giant  by 
the  standards  of  average  men.  The  root-cause  of  all 
the  vilification  and  harsh  criticism  hurled  at  Voltaire 
by  ordinarily  respectworthy  people  has  been  the 
hopeless  inability  of  the  church-schooled  multitude  to 
grasp  the  free  play  of  a  marvellous  intellect,  which 
could  no  more  submit  to  be  shackled  by  the  ecclesias- 
ticism  of  its  day  than  the  brave  Reformer  of  Galilee 
could  trim  his  conscience  to  fit  the  saddles  of  Jewish 
or  Roman  riders.  To  condense  the  events  of  this  re- 
markably chequered  career  in  a  few  pages  is  impos- 
sible without  omitting  minor  items  which,  unim- 
portant in  themselves,  yet  reflect  the  flashings  of  the 
lesser  facets  which  contribute  to  the  varied  lights  of 
the  diamond.  Mr.  Morley's  lucid  and  powerful 
study  of  Voltaire,  in  this  series,  leaves  room  for  the 
following  attempt  at  a  reasonably  brief  outline  of 
the  events  in  this  multiform  life.  The  object  is  to 
aid  in  understanding  the  hidden  conditions  in  which 
many  of  the  strong,  and  sometimes  apparently  ex- 
travagant, utterances  were  produced. 

14 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  15 

The  narrative  is  compiled  from  biographies  writ- 
ten at  various  periods  since  1778,  and  is  enriched  in 
being  supplemented  by  the  little-known  tributes  of 
the  most  charming  English  writer  among  Voltaire's 
contemporaries,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  who  was  person- 
ally acquainted  with  the  great  Frenchman,  whose 
genius  he  admired  as  enthusiastically  as  he  cham- 
pioned his  character. 

Francois  Marie  Arouet  was  born  at  Paris  on  November 
21,  1694.  He  assumed  the  name  de  Voltaire  when  in  his 
twenty-fifth  year. 

1711 — From  the  first,  as  a  schoolboy,  Voltaire  out- 
classed his  fellows.  At  the  close  of  his  sixth  school  year 
he  was  awarded  prize  after  prize  and  crown  after  crown, 
until  he  was  covered  with  crowns  and  staggered  under  the 
weight  of  his  prize  books.  J.  B.  Rousseau,  being  present, 
predicted  a  glorious  future  for  him.  He  was  a  good 
scholar,  a  favorite  of  his  teachers,  and  admired  and  be- 
loved by  his  companions. 

Left  school  in  August,  aged  nearly  seventeen,  tall,  thin, 
with  especially  bright  eyes  as  his  only  mark  of  uncommon 
good  looks.  He  was  welcomed  to  the  Temple  by  such 
grand  seigniors  as  the  duke  de  Sully,  the  duke  de  Ven- 
dome,  prince  de  Conti,  marquis  de  Fare,  and  the  other 
persons  of  rank  forming  their  circle,  who  put  him  on  a 
footing  of  perfect  familiarity.  He  became  a  gay  leader 
of  fashion,  flattered  by  the  ladies,  made  much  of  by  the 
men,  supping  with  princes  and  satirizing  the  follies  of  the 
hour  in  sparkling  verse. 

1717 — Voltaire  returned  in  the  spring  to  Paris,  where 
many  uncomplimentary  squibs  were  being  circulated  con- 
cerning the  pleasure-loving  regent,  of  which  he  was  at 
once  suspected,  rightly  or  wrongly ;  he  was  arrested  in 
his  lodgings  in  the  "Green  Basket,"  sent  to  the  Bastille 
and  assigned  a  room,  which  was  ever  after  known  as  Vol- 
taire's room.  Here  he  dwelt  for  eleven  months,  during 


1 6  The  Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

which  he  wrote  the  "Henriade"  and  corrected  "The 
CEdipe." 

1718 — Released  April  nth,  as  a  result  of  entertaining 
the  regent  with  comedy,  and  changed  his  name,  for  luck, 
as  he  says  himself,  to  Voltaire,  a  name  found  several 
generations  back  in  the  family  of  his  mother. 

1722 — M.  Arouet,  Voltaire's  father,  died  January  1st, 
leaving  Armand,  the  orthodox  son,  his  office,  worth  13,000 
francs  a  year,  and  to  Voltaire  property  yielding  about  4,000 
francs  a  year.  Voltaire  was  granted  a  pension  of  2,000 
francs  by  the  regent.  He  loaned  money  at  ten  per  cent, 
a  year  to  dukes,  princes  and  other  grand  seigniors  with 
a  determination  to  become  independent.  He  always  lived 
well  within  his  income. 

1726 — It  was  desirable  to  leave  France  for  a  time,  hence 
Voltaire's  visit  to  England.  His  letters  show  how  deeply 
he  was  impressed  by  the  characteristics  of  the  nation  by 
whom  he  was  so  cordially  welcomed.  Voltaire  having  lost 
20,000  francs  through  a  Jewish  financier,  the  king  of  Eng- 
land presented  him  with  one  hundred  pounds. 

1727 — He  studied  English  so  industriously  that  within 
six  months  he  could  write  it  well,  and  within  a  year  was 
writing  English  poetry.  He  made  many  influential  friends, 
and  seems  to  have  known  almost  every  living  Englishman 
of  note.  He  studied  Newton,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Dry- 
den,  Locke,  Bacon,  Swift,  Young.  Thomson,  Congreve. 
Pope,  Addison,  and  others.  His  two  and  a  half  years  in 
England  were  as  a  post-graduate  university  course  to  him* 
and  amidst  his  studies  he  still  was  a  producer,  completing 
unfinished  works  and  preparing  others  for  his  London 
publisher.  Newton  and  Locke — Locke  in  particular — in- 
spired in  Voltaire  his  strongest  and  best  trait — the  love  of 
justice  for  its  own  sake. 

1730-1731 — The  first  year  after  his  return  from  England 
was  comparatively  peaceful,  but  in  March  of  1730  his 
friend,  the  brilliant  actress,  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  died  at 
the  age  of  twenty-eight,  and  was  refused  Christian  burial ; 
Voltaire  leaped  forward  with  his  accustomed  magnanimity 
as  her  champion,  unhesitatingly  endangering  his  safety  in 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  17 

so  doing — always  a  true  friend,  always  the  helper  of  the 
weak  and  oppressed,  always  the  advocate  of  justice,  and 
always  first  to  defend  natural  rights.  In  this  year,  too, 
he  began  the  mock-heroic  poem  of  ten  thousand  lines  on 
Joan  of  Arc  ("La  Pucelle"),  the  keeping  of  which  from 
his  enemies  caused  him  anxiety  for  years.  Interferences 
in  his  publications  by  the  authorities  of  Paris  marked  this 
year,  and,  restive  and  unsubdued,  he  looked  elsewhere, 
with  the  result  that  in  March  of  the  next  year,  under  pre- 
tence of  going  to  England,  he  took  up  his  abode  in  obscure 
lodgings  in  Rouen,  where  he  passed  as  an  exiled  English- 
man. Here  he  lived  for  six  months — sometimes  in  a  farm- 
house— and  did  a  prodigious  amount  of  work,  besides  hav- 
ing his  interdicted  works  published.  Late  in  the  summer 
of  this  year  he  returned  to  Paris,  where,  for  the  first  time 
since  returning  from  England,  he  took  permanent  quarters. 
These  were  luxurious  ones  in  the  hotel  of  the  countess  de 
Fontaine-Martel,  at  whose  invitation  he  came  and  with 
whom  he  was  friendly.  Here  were  continuous  gayeties, 
here  his  plays  were  performed,  and  here  he  had  Cideville 
and  Formont  as  near  friends  and  helpful  critics. 

1732 — On  August  I3th,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  having 
"Zaire"  successfully  produced  in  Paris,  then  in  Fontaine- 
bleau,  then  in  London,  and  soon,  amidst  applause,  in  cities 
throughout  all  Europe.  This  October  he  spent  in  Fontaine- 
bleau,  and  in  November  he  returned  to  his  aged  friend, 
the  countess,  in  Paris. 

1733 — During  January  he  acted  a  leading  part  in  the 
production  of  "Zaire"  with  telling  effect,  and  about  this 
time  this  happy  life  was  terminated  by  the  death  of  the 
countess.  Voltaire  stayed  for  three  months  longer,  and  in 
May  took  lodgings  with  Demoulin,  his  man  of  business,  in 
a  dingy  and  obscure  lane.  Here  two  other  poets,  Lefevre 
and  Linant,  were  with  him,  and  here  he  began  to  live  more 
the  life  of  a  philosopher.  He  engaged  in  the  importation 
of  grain  from  Spain  and  was  interested  in  the  manufacture 
of  straw-paper.  In  company  with  his  friend  Paris-Duver- 
ney,  he  took  contracts  for  feeding  the  army,  out  of  which 
he  quickly  realized  over  half  a  million  francs.  Business 
Vol.  i—2 


1 8  The  Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

never  interfered  with  his  literary  work,  and  while  he  fed 
the  army  he  also  produced  verse  for  it. 

1734 — Forty  years  of  age.  Voltaire  had  recently  met 
the  marquise  du  Chatelet.  He  was  doubtless  now  the  most 
conspicuous,  almost  the  only,  literary  figure  on  the  conti- 
nent who  wrote  in  the  new,  free  spirit  that  began  to  dom- 
inate the  few  great  minds  of  northern  Europe.  Booksellers 
in  Europe  found  his  writings  profitable.  Frederick,  prince 
royal  of  Prussia,  was  his  disciple.  Two  editions  of  his 
collected  works  had  been  published  in  Amsterdam,  and  he 
was  in  demand  everywhere ;  but  more  trouble  was  brewing. 
J.  B.  Rousseau,  piqued  over  a  quarrel,  wrote  from  his  exile 
disparagingly  of  Voltaire,  who,  in  his  turn,  wrote  the 
"Temple  of  Taste,"  which  an  enemy  secured  and  published 
without  the  censor's  approval,  and  again  Voltaire  was  in 
trouble.  He  dearly  loved  a  fight,  and  he  fought  like  a  man 
— for  truth,  toleration,  and  justice — and  he  won.  At  this 
time  he  found  time  to  bring  about  the  marriage  of  the  prin- 
cess de  Guise  to  the  duke  de  Richelieu,  and  attended,  with 
Madame  du  Chatelet,  the  nuptials  in  Monjeu,  150  miles 
southeast  of  Paris.  Unlike  many  writers  of  our  day,  Vol- 
taire could  not  keep  the  product  of  his  pen  out  of  print, 
and  some  surreptitious  publications  at  this  time  caused  an 
order  for  his  arrest  and  the  public  burning  of  the  book. 
The  sacrifice  of  paper  took  place,  but  our  ever  wary  author 
saved  himself  by  flight,  supposedly  to  Lorraine.  At  this 
time  Voltaire  and  the  philosophical  Madame  du  Chatelet 
became  greatly  attached  to  each  other,  and  their  friendship 
lasted  sixteen  years.  She  lived  in  a  thirteenth  century 
castle  at  Cirey,  in  Champagne. 

1736 — On  his  return  to  Cirey,  he  found  awaiting  him  a 
long  letter  from  Frederick  of  Prussia.  A  year  or  two 
before,  Voltaire  had  received  from  the  duke  of  Holstein, 
heir  presumptive  to  the  throne  of  Russia,  husband  of 
Catherine  II.,  an  invitation  to  reside  in  the  Russian  capital, 
on  a  revenue  of  10,000  francs  a  year,  which  he  declined. 
He  was  accustomed  to  the  attention  of  princes  and  eulo- 
giums  from  the  gifted,  but  the  letter  of  this  Prussian  prince 
had  an  especial  importance  and  effect  and  opened  a  volu- 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  19 

minous  correspondence,  ceasing  only  with  the  close  of  Vol- 
taire's life. 

1740 — This  was  one  of  the  most  interesting  years  of 
his  life.  Frederick's  admiration  for  and  devotion  to  him 
were  at  their  height,  while  his  fine  sentences,  so  freely  and 
so  finely  expressed,  induced  Voltaire  to  call  him  the 
modern  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  the  Solomon  of  the  North. 
Frederick  made  Voltaire  his  confidant;  Voltaire  was  to 
him  the  most  devoted  teacher,  philosopher  and  friend.  The 
intercourse  of  these  two  men  constitutes  one  of  the  most 
interesting  episodes  in  history.  Frederick  William  died 
May  3 ist,  and  Voltaire's  royal  friend  occupied  the  throne 
of  Prussia.  This  fact  promised  to  be  of  immense  ad- 
vantage to  Voltaire. 

For  ten  years  a  struggle  existed  between  Frederick  and 
Madame  du  Chatelet  for  a  monopoly  of  Voltaire's  com- 
pany. This  rivalry  was  not  conducive  to  his  happiness. 

1741-1742 — Voltaire  and  Frederick  gradually  became 
disenchanted  with  each  other.  There  was  no  longer  any  in- 
tellectual sympathy  between  their  strong  individualities. 
Frederick,  warlike  and  aggressive,  shedding  the  blood  and 
disturbing  the  peace  of  nations,  was  not  the  Frederick 
Voltaire  admired,  and  he  hesitated  not  to  reprove  the  king 
frequently. 

Among  the  Englishmen  who  visited  him  in  Brussels  was 
Lord  Chesterfield,  to  whom  he  read  hii  play,  "Mahomet," 
which  was  in  May  produced  in  Lille  by  a  good  French 
company,  Voltaire  and  Madame  du  Chatelet  being  present. 
It  was  successful,  but  its  production  in  Paris  was  delayed 
on  account  of  a  temporary  disfavor  in  which  Voltaire 
found  himself  with  the  Parisians,  owing  to  his  intimacy 
with  the  king  of  Prussia,  now  become  the  enemy  of 
France.  However,  in  August,  1742,  it  was  produced  in 
the  Theatre  Frangais,  to  the  most  distinguished  audience 
that  Paris  could  furnish — the  ministry,  magistrates,  clergy, 
d'Alembert,  literary  men,  and  the  fashionable  world,  Vol- 
taire being  conspicuous  in  the  middle  of  the  pit.  Its  suc- 
cess was  immense,  but  his  old  enemy,  the  Church,  tireless 
as  himself,  found  an  excuse  for  censuring  "Mahomet,"  and 


2O  The   Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

within  a  week  had  it  taken  off  the  boards.  Invited  by 
Frederick,  he  went  in  September  to  Aix-la-Chapelle.  There 
the  king  again  tried  to  lure  him  to  Prussia.  Frederick 
offered  him  a  handsome  house  in  Berlin,  a  fine  estate  in 
the  country,  a  princely  income,  and  the  free  enjoyment  of 
his  time,  all  of  which  to  have  Voltaire  near  him ;  but  Vol- 
taire loved  his  native  country,  notwithstanding  its  per- 
secutions, its  Bastille,  its  suppression  of  his  dramas,  its 
Jansenists,  Convulsionists,  Desfontaines,  and  its  frequent 
exiling  of  its  most  illustrious  son ;  and  he  loved  his  friends 
and  was  faithful ;  and  so,  declining  the  king's  bounty,  he 
went  back  to  Paris.  He  devoted  himself  for  a  year  to  the 
production  of  plays,  drilling  the  actors,  subjecting  every 
detail  to  the  closest  scrutiny,  and  creating  successes  that 
eclipsed  even  his  own  earlier  efforts.  It  is  said  that  the 
"Merope"  drowned  the  theatre  in  tears,  and  caused  high 
excitement. 

1745 — In  January,  Voltaire  took  up  his  abode  in  Ver- 
sailles to  superintend  rehearsals,  and  in  consideration  of 
his  labors  at  the  fete,  the  king  appointed  him  histori- 
ographer of  France,  on  a  yearly  salary  of  2,000  francs,  and 
promised  him  the  next  vacant  chair  in  the  Academy.  Vol- 
taire considered  this  fair  remuneration  for  a  year  of  much 
toil  in  matters  of  the  court.  During  these  turbulent  times, 
when  a  skilful  pen  was  needed  he  was  called  upon.  He 
was  at  this  time  in  high  favor  with  the  king;  Madame  de 
Pompadour  and  many  other  influential  persons  also  fa- 
vored his  aspirations.  Voltaire  dedicated  "Mahomet"  to 
the  Pope,  and  sent  a  copy  and  a  letter  to  him,  out  of 
which  grew  an  interesting  correspondence,  the  publication 
of  which  proclaimed  his  good  standing  with  the  head  of 
the  Church.  He  was  elected  to  the  Academy  in  1746. 

1747 — Private  theatricals  among  the  nobility  were 
greatly  in  vogue  at  this  time,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour 
selected  Voltaire's  comedy,  "The  Prodigal,"  to  be  played 
in  the  palace  before  the  king.  It  was  a  striking  success, 
and  the  author,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment,  ad- 
dressed a  poem  to  Madame  de  Pompadour  in  which  oc- 
curred an  indiscreet  allusion  to  her  relations  with  the  king. 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  21 

As  a  consequence,  the  king  was  induced  to  sign  an  order 
for  his  exile.  This  was  followed  by  his  hurried  flight  from 
court.  At  midnight,  Voltaire,  returning  to  his  house  in 
Fontainebleau,  ordered  the  horses  hitched  to  the  carriage, 
and  before  daybreak  left  for  Paris.  He  took  refuge  with 
the  duchess  du  Maine  in  Sceaux. 

1749 — Madame  du  Chatelet  died  under  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances in  August.  Voltaire  found  solace  in  play-writ- 
ing. He  set  up  house  in  Paris,  and  invited  his  niece, 
Madame  Denis,  to  manage  for  him,  which  she  did  for  the 
remainder  of  his  days,  and  thus  at  the  age  of  fifty-six  he 
had  a  suitable  and  becoming  home  in  his  native  city,  with 
an  income  of  74,000  francs  a  year,  equal  to  about  fifty 
thousand  dollars  to-day.  Though  it  was  considered  fash- 
ionable in  that  age  to  have  intrigues  with  women,  there 
is  no  evidence  to  prove  that  it  was  not  repugnant  to  Vol- 
taire. He  may  at  court  have  pretended  to  have  been  con- 
ventional in  this  respect,  but  his  retired  life  with  his  niece, 
his  years  at  Frederick's  court,  and  his  more  than  fatherly 
treatment  of  his  nieces,  Corneille's  granddaughter,  and 
other  young  women,  show  that  he  was  a  good  man  to 
women.  He  owned  no  land,  his  investments  being  almost 
wholly  in  bonds,  mortgages,  and  annuities.  His  letters  in- 
dicate that  at  this  time  he  considered  himself  settled  for 
life,  his  intention  being,  after  spending  the  winter  in 
Paris,  to  visit  Frederick  and  Rome,  making  a  tour  of 
Italy,  and  then  to  return  to  Paris.  But  his  reformatory 
writings  were  again  bringing  him  into  disfavor  at  court. 
He  provided  a  theatre  in  his  house,  and  invited  a  troupe  of 
amateurs,  amongst  whom  was  the  soon  to  be  famous 
Lckain,  to  perform  in  it.  This  little  theatre  became 
famous.  Voltaire  worked  like  a  Trojan,  drilled  the  act- 
ors, supervised  everything,  and  produced  the  most  artistic 
effects.  His  work  at  this  period  included  "Zadig,"  "Ba- 
bouc,"  and  "Mcmnon,"  among  his  best  burlesque  romances. 

1750 — The  king  of  Prussia,  on  the  death  of  his  rival, 
renewed  his  solicitations  that  Voltaire  should  come  to  live 
with  him.  After  his  wars  Frederick  was  again  an  indus- 
trious author,  and  Voltaire,  submitting  to  his  importunities, 


22  The  Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

again  went  to  him,  leaving  Madame  Denis  and  Long- 
champ  in  charge  of  his  house.  He  left  Paris  June  I5th, 
and  reached,  July  loth,  Sans-Souci,  near  Potsdam,  the 
country  place  of  the  king,  seventeen  miles  from  Berlin. 
Here  everybody  courted  him,  and  all  that  the  king  had 
was  at  his  disposal.  At  a  grand  celebration  in  Berlin,  Vol- 
taire's appearance  caused  more  enthusiasm  than  did  the 
king's.  Frederick  was  now  thirty-eight  years  of  age,  had 
finished  his  first  war  and  was  devoting  himself  to  making 
Berlin — a  city  of  90,000  people — attractive  and  famous.  At 
his  nightly  concerts  were  Europe's  most  famous  artists. 
At  his  suppers  were,  besides  Voltaire,  many  of  the  choice 
spirits  of  the  literary  world.  Here,  after  thirty  years  of 
storms,  Voltaire  felt  that  he  had  found  a  port.  Here  was 
no  Mirepoix  to  be  despised  and  feared,  no  Bull  Unigenitus, 
no  offensive  body  of  clergy  and  courtiers  seeking  fat  pre- 
ferment, no  billets  de  confession,  nor  lettres  de  cachet,  no 
Frerons  to  irritate  authors,  no  cabals  to  damn  a  play,  no 
more  semblance  of  a  king.  Here  for  a  time  Voltaire  was 
so  happy  that  the  long  prospected  trip  to  Italy  was  for- 
gotten, but  ere  the  year  was  out  Paris,  in  the  distance,  to 
our  Frenchman  grew  even  more  attractive  and  beautiful 
than  before ;  several  disagreeable  things  happened  as  a 
result  of  the  decided  attachment  of  Frederick  for  Voltaire, 
— jealousy  and  all  forms  of  littleness  ever  present  at  court 
were  repugnant  to  Voltaire.  At  this  time  he  had  an  un- 
happy misunderstanding  with  Lessing,  and  in  this  and  the 
following  year  he  did  much  work  on  his  "Age  of  Louis 
XIV." 

In  November  his  propensity  for  speculation  led  him  into 
the  most  deplorable  lawsuit  of  his  life.  He  supplied  a 
Berlin  jeweller  named  Abraham  Hirsch  with  money  and 
sent  him  to  Dresden  to  buy  depreciated  banknotes  at  a 
large  discount.  Hirsch  attended  to  his  private  business, 
it  seems,  and  neglected  Voltaire's.  He  was  recalled  and 
the  speculation  abandoned;  but  the  wily  agent  was  not 
easily  shaken  off,  as  Voltaire  found  to  his  cost.  Voltaire 
had  a  constitutional  persistence  that  made  it  all  but  impos- 
sible for  him  to  submit  to  imposition,  and  he  fought  in  this 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  23 

case  an  antagonist  as  persistent  as  himself,  and  one  utterly 
unscrupulous,  so  that  after  several  months  of  litigation  he 
indeed  won  his  suit,  but  suffered  much  humiliation  withal 
and  greatly  disgusted  Frederick,  who  could  not  tolerate  a 
lawsuit  with  a  Jew. 

1751 — During  this  year  of  trouble,  he  and  the  king  for  a 
time  saw  less  of  each  other,  and  Voltaire  found  solace,  as 
usual,  in  his  literary  labors.  He  studied  German,  pub- 
lished his  "Age  of  Louis  XIV."  in  Berlin  and  in  London. 
He  co-operated  with  Diderot  and  d'Alembert  on  the  great 
"Encyclopaedia,"  the  first  volume  of  which  was  prohibited 
in  this  year;  and  so,  still  toiling  in  a  room  adjoining  the 
king's  in  the  chateau  in  Potsdam,  this  year  glided  into  the 
next,  in  which  the  famous  "Doctor  Akakia"  looms  up. 

1752 — In  his  brochure  with  this  title  Voltaire  played 
with  the  great  Maupertuis  as  a  cat  might  with  a  mouse. 
The  indulgence  of  his  satirical  tendencies  endangered  his 
friendship  with  the  king,  and  in  September  a  letter  to 
Madame  Denis  revealed  the  fact  that  he  was  preparing  to 
return  to  Paris.  In  November  the  king  learned  of  the 
printed  attack  on  his  president  of  the  Academy  and  was 
furious  with  Voltaire.  An  interesting  correspondence  fol- 
lowed, and  partial  reconciliation.  The  court  and  Voltaire 
went  to  Berlin  for  the  Christmas  festivities,  but  in  this  in- 
stance to  separate  houses.  Here  he  had  the  honor  of  seeing 
several  copies  of  his  diatribe  publicly  burned  on  Sunday, 
December  24th,  the  result  being  that  for  some  time  ten 
German  presses  were  printing  the  work  day  and  night. 

1753 — On  New  Year's  day  Voltaire  returned  to  the 
king  as  a  New  Year's  gift  the  cross  of  his  order  and  his 
chamberlain's  key,  together  with  a  most  respectful  letter 
resigning  his  office  and  announcing  his  intended  return  to 
Paris.  The  king  sent  the  insignia  back  and  pressed  Vol- 
taire to  stay,  but  in  vain.  After  a  sojourn  in  Leipsic, 
Voltaire  paid  a  visit  to  the  duchess  of  Saxe-Gotha,  at 
Gotha.  At  her  desire  he  undertook  to  write  the  "Annals 
of  the  Empire  since  Charlemagne."  In  the  evenings  he 
delighted  the  brilliant  company  with  reading  his  poems  on 
"Natural  Religion"  and  "La  Pucellc."  Voltaire  again  irri- 


24  The  Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

tated  by  his  parting  shots  at  Maupertius.  An  order  was 
given,  and  carried  out,  by  which  Voltaire  was  arrested 
and  detained  at  Frankfort  while  his  boxes  were  searched 
for  the  cross  and  key,  and  the  more  important  manuscript 
of  verses  by  the  king,  entitled  "Palladion,"  in  which  his 
majesty  had  burlesqued  the  Christian  faith.  The  king  got 
his  papers  and  chuckled  over  the  humiliation  of  the  man 
he  had  idolized,  who  took  a  poet's  revenge  in  this  roughly 
paraphrased  epigram  on  the  great  Frederick: 

"Of  incongruities  a  monstrous  pile, 
Calling  men  brothers,  crushing  them  the  while; 
With  air  humane,  a  misanthropic  brute ; 
Ofttimes  impulsive,  ofttimes  too  astute ; 
Weakest  when  angry,  modest  in  his  pride; 
Yearning  for  virtue,  lust  personified ; 
Statesman  and  author,  of  the  slippery  crew; 
My  patron,  pupil,  persecutor  too." 

In  November  of  this  year  he  visited  his  old  friend,  the 
duke  de  Richelieu,  in  Lyons,  a  city  of  great  commercial 
importance  about  200  miles  from  Colmar.  Here  he  was 
enthusiastically  welcomed  by  his  few  friends  and  the  pub- 
lic, but  the  Church  made  it  plain  to  him  that  he  was  not 
welcome  to  the  governing  class  in  France;  so  that,  after 
a  month  in  Lyons,  he  loaded  his  big  carriage  once  more 
and  sought  an  asylum  in  Geneva,  ninety  miles  distant.  He 
would  have  gone  to  America  had  he  not  feared  the  long 
sea  journey,  and  in  Switzerland  he  found  the  best  possible 
European  substitute  for  the  new  world  of  freedom  so  at- 
tractive to  him. 

1755 — In  February  Voltaire  bought  a  life-lease  of  a 
commodious  house,  with  beautiful  gardens,  on  a  splendid 
eminence  overlooking  Geneva,  the  lake  and  rivers;  and 
giving  an  enchanting  view  of  Jura  and  the  Alps.  This  place 
he  named  "Les  Delices,"  the  name  it  still  bears.  Here, 
he  was  in  Geneva.  Ten  minutes'  walk  placed  him  in  Sar- 
dinia. He  was  only  half  an  hour  from  France  and  one  hour 
from  the  Swiss  canton  of  Vaud.  The  situation  pleased 
Voltaire,  and  he  bought  property  and  houses  under  four 
governments,  and  all  within  a  circuit  of  a  day's  ride.  Vol- 
taire describes  his  retreat  thus:  "I  lean  my  left  on  Mount 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  25 

Jura,  my  right  on  the  Alps,  and  I  have  the  beautiful  lake 
of  Geneva  in  front  of  my  camp,  a  beautiful  castle  on  the 
borders  of  France,  the  hermitage  of  Delices  in  the  terri- 
tory of  Geneva,  a  good  house  at  Lausanne;  crawling  thus 
from  one  burrow  to  another,  I  escape  from  kings.  Philos- 
ophers should  always  have  two  or  three  holes  underground 
against  the  hounds  that  run  them  down."  From  now  until 
the  end  of  his  long  life  he  lived  like  a  feudal  lord,  a  landed 
proprietor  and  an  entertaining  host.  He  kept  horses,  car 
riages,  coachmen,  postilions,  lackeys,  a  valet,  a  French 
cook,  a  secretary  and  a  boy,  besides  pet  and  domestic  ani- 
mals. Nearly  every  day  he  entertained  at  dinner  from  five 
to  twenty  friends. 

1756 — On  November  rst,  All  Saints'  Day,  at  9:40  a.  m., 
occurred  the  Lisbon  earthquake,  when  half  the  people  of 
that  city  were  in  church.  In  six  minutes  the  city  was  in 
ruins  and  30,000  people  dead  or  dying.  This  was  food 
for  the  thought  of  Europe  and  inspired  one  of  Voltaire's 
best  poems.  This  was  followed  by  "Candidc,"  the  most 
celebrated  of  his  prose  burlesques,  on  Rousseau's  "best  of 
all  possible  worlds,"  and  Dr.  Johnson's  "Rasselas."  At 
this  time  the  surreptitious  publication  of  "La  Pucelle"  of- 
fended the  French  Calvinists  of  Geneva,  and  Voltaire 
thought  it  well  in  1756  to  go  to  Lausanne,  where  he  inau- 
gurated private  theatricals  in  his  own  house.  Here  Gibbon 
had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  a  great  poet  declaim  his  own 
production  on  the  stage.  In  this  year  his  admirable  Italian 
secretary,  Collini,  left  him,  and  his  place  was  filled  by  a 
Genevan  named  Wagniere,  who  continued  to  be  his  facto- 
tum for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  When  scarcely  three 
years  in  Geneva,  Voltaire,  finding  the  Genevans — who  built 
their  first  theatre  ten  years  later — averse  to  his  theatrical 
performances,  bought  on  French  soil  the  estate  of  Ferney 
and  built  a  theatre  there. 

1757-1758 — Voltaire  never  became  indifferent  to  the  dis- 
favor in  which  he  was  held  at  the  French  court  under  the 
dominion  of  the  Jesuits.  Fortunately  for  him,  he  had  for 
a  friend  the  brilliant  and  powerful  Pompadour,  who  at  this 
tine  made  him  again  safe  on  French  soil,  restored  his  pen- 


16  The  Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

sion  and  had  his  Ferney  estate  exempted  from  taxation.  At 
this  time,  too,  the  "old  Swiss,"  as  he  was  sometimes  called, 
received  an  invitation  from  Elizabeth,  empress  of  Russia, 
to  come  to  St.  Petersburg  to  write  a  history  of  her  father, 
Peter  the  Great.  Voltaire,  now  sixty-four,  gladly  under- 
took the  work,  but  declining  to  go  to  St.  Petersburg  on  ac- 
count of  his  health,  he  had  all  necessary  documents  sent 
to  Ferney.  While  Europe  and  America  were  ravaged  by 
war,  Voltaire  worked  industriously  on  his  history,  and 
yet  amidst  his  labors  his  generous  heart,  consecrated  to 
justice  and  humanity,  moved  him  to  splendid  though  un- 
successful efforts  to  save  Admiral  Byng  from  his  perse- 
cutors. Again  the  king  of  Prussia  seemed  unable  to  for- 
get Voltaire,  and  their  correspondence  was  resumed.  Vol- 
taire hated  carnage  and  cruelty,  and  begged  Frederick, 
almost  piteously,  to  end  the  war ;  but  it  continued,  and  the 
"Swiss  Hermit"  worked  on  in  his  retreat,  never  letting 
Europe  forget  his  existence. 

His  outdoor  occupations  in  Switzerland  su  improved  his 
health  that  he  resolved  to  become  a  farmer  at  his  new 
place,  the  ancient  estate  of  Ferney.  He  converted  the  old 
chateau  into  a  substantial  stone  building  of  fourteen  rooms. 
He  improved  the  estate  throughout,  and  made  a  life  pur- 
chase of  the  adjacent  seigniory  of  Tourney.  He  employed 
sixteen  working  oxen  in  his  farming  operations,  established 
a  breeding  stable  of  ten  mares  at  Les  Delices,  accepted  a 
present  of  a  fine  stallion  from  the  king's  stables,  kept  thirty 
men  employed,  and  maintained  on  his  estate  more  than 
sixty;  and  let  it  be  remembered  that  not  only  did  he  make 
his  estates  beautiful,  but  he  made  them  profitable.  He  had 
splendid  barns,  poultry-yards,  and  sheepfolds,  wine- 
presses, storerooms,  and  fruit-houses,  about  500  beehives, 
and  a  colony  of  silkworms.  He  had  a  fine  nursery  and  en- 
couraged tree-planting.  He  formed  a  park,  three  miles  in 
circuit,  on  the  English  model,  around  his  house.  Near  the 
chateau  he  built  a  marble  bath-house,  supplied  with  hot 
and  cold  water.  Everything  that  Voltaire  wished  for  he 
had;  from  1758  to  1764  he  enjoyed  good  health  and  spirits 
and  was  never  less  involved  in  public  affairs  nor  more 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  27 

prolific  with  his  pen.  Marmontel  and  Casanova  wrote 
interestingly  of  their  visits  to  Voltaire  at  this  time.  He 
finally  wearied  of  the  stream  of  people  that  visited  him  at 
Les  Delices,  and  in  1765  sold  it  and  spent  all  his  time  at 
the  less  easily  reached  Ferney. 

1759 — In  this  year  his  "Natural  Religion"  was  burned 
by  the  hangman  in  Paris.  This  infamy  stirred  Voltaire's 
indignation  greatly  and  impelled  him  to  almost  superhuman 
efforts  against  "L'Infame,"  the  name  with  which  he 
branded  ecclesiasticism  claiming  supernatural  authority 
and  enforcing  that  claim  with  pains  and  penalties.  His 
friends  tried  to  dissuade  him,  but  he  had  enlisted  for  the 
war  and  would  not  desert.  Though  as  one  against  ten 
thousand,  he  knew  no  fear,  and  his  watchword  became 
Ecrases  I'lnfame. 

1760 — In  1759  and  1760  appeared  in  Paris  anonymous 
pamphlets  by  a  well-known  pen,  in  which  the  Jesuit  Berthier 
and  others  were  smothered  in  the  most  mirth-provoking 
ridicule.  In  this  year  he  had  also  much  dramatic  success 
in  Paris  under  the  management  of  d'Argcntal.  It  was  one 
of  his  most  eventful  years,  and  a  rumor  of  his  death  having 
spread  over  Paris,  in  writing  Madame  du  Deffand.  he 
said:  "I  have  never  been  less  dead  than  I  am  at  present. 
I  have  not  a  moment  free;  bullocks,  cows,  sheep,  mead- 
ows, buildings,  gardens,  occupy  me  in  the  morning ;  all 
the  afternoon  is  for  study,  and  after  supper  we  rehearse 
the  pieces  that  are  played  in  my  little  theatre."  This  rumor 
occasioned  the  noble  tribute  of  Goldsmith  appended  to 
this  narrative. 

1761 — The  infamous  outrage  by  the  Church  on  the  Calas 
family  of  Protestants  in  Toulouse  is  referred  to  by  Vol- 
taire in  his  work  on  "Toleration."  It  stirred  his  indig- 
nation so  powerfully  that  he  devoted  almost  superhuman 
efforts  to  the  duty  of  undoing  the  crime  so  far  as  possible. 

1762-1763 — He  undertook  to  have  the  Calas  case  re- 
opened, and  devoted  himself  to  this  task  as  if  he  had  no 
other  object  or  hope  in  life.  He  issued  seven  pamphlets  on 
the  case,  had  them  translated  and  published  in  England 
and  Germany.  He  stirred  Europe  up  to  help  him.  The 


28  The   Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

queen  of  England,  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  ten 
other  English  bishops,  besides  seventy-nine  lords  and 
forty-seven  gentlemen,  subscribed ;  also  several  German 
princes  and  nobles.  The  Swiss  cantons,  the  empress  of 
Russia,  the  king  of  Poland,  and  many  other  notables  con- 
tributed money  to  assist  Voltaire  in  this  tremendous  battle. 
It  took  him  three  years  to  win  it,  but  on  the  gth  of  March, 
1765,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  having  the  Galas  family 
declared  innocent  and  their  property  restored,  amidst  the 
applause  of  Europe.  Voltaire  went  further,  and  had  the 
king  grant  to  each  member  of  the  family  a  considerable 
sum  in  cash,  besides  other  benefits  that  he  secured  for 
them.  Known  as  the  savior  of  the  Galas  family,  others  in 
trouble  went  to  him,  till  Ferney  became  a  refuge  for  the 
distressed.  Another  celebrated  case,  that  of  the  Sirven 
family,  occurred  in  this  year.  Voltaire,  learning  of  it  in 
1763,  took  up  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  as  enthusias- 
tically as  in  the  Galas  case.  He  wrote  volumes  in  their 
behalf,  and  labored  for  nine  years  for  the  reversal  of  their 
sentence,  giving  and  getting  money  as  required.  At  length, 
in  January,  1772,  he  was  able  to  announce  the  complete 
success  of  his  efforts  on  their  behalf,  and  their  complete 
vindication.  These  are  but  two  of  many  such  cases  in 
which  he  interested  himself.  The  horrors  of  French  in- 
justice at  this  time  kept  him  constantly  agitated  and  at 
work,  and  even  induced  him  to  attempt,  in  1766,  the  form- 
ing of  a  colony  of  philosophers  in  a  freer  land.  But  fail- 
ing to  find  philosophers  inclined  to  self-expatriation,  he 
dropped  the  idea. 

1768 — On  Easter  Sunday  he  communed  in  his  own 
church  and  addressed  the  congregation. 

1769 — Again,  on  Easter  of  this  year,  the  whim  seized 
him  to  commune,  as  he  lay  in  bed.  At  this  time  he  was 
draining  the  swamp  lands  in  the  vicinity,  lending  money 
without  interest  to  gentlemen,  giving  money  to  the  poor, 
establishing  schools,  fertilizing  lands,  and  maintaining  over 
a  hundred  persons,  defending  the  weak  and  persecuted,  and 
playing  jokes  on  the  bishop,  besides,  after  his  sixtieth 
year,  writing  160  publications.  The  difficulty  of  circulat- 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  29 

ing  his  works  can  be  imagined  when  it  is  remembered  that 
he  found  it  desirable  to  use  108  different  pseudonyms. 
The  Church  watched  all  his  manoeuvres  as  a  cat  watches 
a  mouse,  yet  he  outwitted  his  enemies,  and  the  eager  public 
got  the  product  of  his  great  mind  in  spite  of  them. 

1770 — By  this  time  Ferney  was  becoming  quite  popu- 
lous. Voltaire  could  not  build  houses  quickly  enough  for 
those  that  flocked  to  his  shelter.  He  fitted  up  his  theatre 
as  a  watch-factory,  and  had  watches  for  sale  within  six 
weeks.  His  friend,  the  duchess  of  Choiseul,  wore  the 
first  silk  stockings  woven  on  the  looms  of  Ferney.  The 
grandest  people  bought  his  watches,  and  soon  great  mate- 
rial prosperity  waited  upon  the  industries  of  Ferney.  Vol- 
taire used  all  his  prestige  on  behalf  of  his  workmen,  and 
so  much  was  he  liked  that  he  could  have  had  nearly  all 
the  skilled  workmen  of  Geneva  had  he  furnished  houses 
for  them.  Catherine  II.  of  Russia  ordered  a  large  quan- 
tity of  his  first  product  in  watches.  Voltaire,  by  his  genius, 
literally  forced  Ferney 's  products  into  the  best  markets  of 
the  world,  so  that  within  three  years  the  watches,  clocks, 
and  jewelry  from  Ferney  went  regularly  to  Spain,  Algiers, 
Italy,  Russia,  Holland,  Turkey,  Morocco,  America,  China, 
Portugal,  and  elsewhere.  Voltaire  was  a  city-builder  and 
creator  of  trade.  His  charities  were  numerous  and  were 
bestowed  without  the  odious  flavor  of  pauperizing  doles. 

In  this  year,  some  of  his  friends  proposed  to  erect  a 
statue  in  his  honor.  Subscriptions  came  abundantly  on  the 
project  being  known,  and  the  statue  now  is  in  the  Institute 
of  Paris.  He  was  so  overrun  with  visitors  that  he  face- 
tiously called  himself  the  innkeeper  of  Europe.  La  Harpe, 
Cramer,  Dr.  Tronchin,  Chabanon,  Charles  Pongens,  Da- 
milaville,  d'Alembert,  James  Boswell,  Charles  James  Fox, 
and  Dr.  Charles  Burney  were  among  his  visitors. 

1774 — On  the  death  of  Louis  XV.,  he  began  to  think 
again  of  Paris,  to  take  a  new  interest  in  and  lay  plans 
for  a  visit  to  the  city  he  loved  so  well ;  but  the  conditions 
seemed  unfavorable,  and  the  various  labors  and  pleasures 
in  Ferney  continued. 

1776 — In   1776  a  large  store-house  was   fitted  up  as  a 


30  The   Many-Sided  Voltaire. 

theatre  and  Lekain  drew  together  in  Ferney  the  nineteen 
cantons.  In  this  year  he  adopted  into  his  family  a  lovely 
girl  of  eighteen  whom  he  called  Belle-et-Bonne. 

1777 — I"  this  year  he  was  still,  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
three,  an  active,  vigilant,  and  successful  man  of  business, 
with  ships  on  the  Indian  seas,  with  aristocratic  debtors 
paying  him  interest,  with  the  industrial  "City  of  Ferney" 
earning  immense  revenues,  with  famous  flocks,  birds,  bees, 
and  silkworms,  all  receiving  his  daily  attention.  His  yearly 
income  at  this  time  was  more  than  200.000  francs,  and 
with  nearly  as  much  purchasing  power  then  as  the  same 
number  of  dollars  has  with  us  to-day.  In  this  year  his 
pet,  the  sweet  Belle-et-Bonne,  was  wooed  and  won  by  a 
gay  marquis  from  Paris.  Voltaire,  though  a  bachelor,  was 
fond  of  match-making,  and  was  pleased  in  telling  of  the 
twenty-two  marriages  that  had  taken  place  on  his  estate 
of  Ferney.  The  newly  married  pair  remained  in  the  cha- 
teau and  they  and  Madame  Denis  conspired  to  induce  him 
to  go  to  Paris.  They  adduced  a  hundred  reasons  why  he 
should  go  and  these  he  as  cleverly  parried ;  but  at  length 
they  prevailed  and  he  consented  to  go  for  six  weeks  only. 

1778 — On  the  3d  of  February  they  started.  The  col- 
onists and  he  were  weeping.  At  the  stopping-places  on  the 
way,  in  order  to  get  away  from  the  crowd  of  admirers 
that  would  press  on  him,  he  found  it  necessary  to  lock 
himself  in  his  room.  He  made  the  300  miles  by  February 
loth,  and  put  up  at  the  hotel  of  Madame  de  Villette,  after 
an  exile  of  twenty-eight  years !  The  city  was  electrified 
by  the  news  and  a  tide  of  visitors  set  in,  and  crowds  waited 
outside  the  hotel  for  a  chance  glimpse  of  the  great  man. 
He  held  a  continuous  reception  and,  amidst  the  tumult  of 
homage,  his  gayety,  tact,  and  humor  never  flagged.  Among 
the  first  to  do  homage  to  Voltaire  was  Dr.  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, with  whom  he  conversed  in  English.  With  the  Ameri- 
can ambassador  was  his  grandson,  a  youth  of  seventeen, 
upon  whom  Franklin  asked  the  venerable  philosopher's 
benediction.  Lifting  his  hands,  Voltaire  solemnly  replied : 
"My  child,  God  and  Liberty,  remember  those  two  words." 
He  said  to  Franklin  that  he  so  admired  the  Constitution 


Incidents  in  his  Life.  31 

of  the  United  States  and  the  Articles  of  Confederation  be- 
tween them  that,  "if  I  were  only  forty  years  old,  I  would 
immediately  go  and  settle  in  your  happy  country."  A 
medal  was  struck  in  honor  of  Washington,  at  Voltaire's 
expense,  bearing  this  couplet : 

Washington  reunit,  par  un  rare  assemblage, 
Des  talens  du  guerrier  et  des  vertus  du  sage. 

During  the  first  two  weeks  several  thousands  of  visitors 
called  to  welcome  their  great  compatriot. 

Voltaire  busied  himself  with  perfecting  his  new  play, 
"Irtne,"  and  rehearsing  it  prior  to  performance.  On  Feb- 
ruary 25th  a  fit  of  coughing  caused  a  haemorrhage.  The 
doctors  managed  to  save  him  for  the  grand  event.  The 
play  was  fixed  for  March  3Oth.  The  queen  fitted  up  a  box 
like  her  own,  and  adjoining  it,  for  Voltaire.  He  attended  a 
session  of  the  Academy  in  the  morning,  where  he  was  over- 
whelmed with  honors,  and  elected  president.  His  carriage 
with  difficulty  passed  through  the  crowds  that  filled  the 
streets,  hoping  to  see  him.  On  entering  the  theatre  he 
thought  to  hide  himself  in  his  box,  but  the  people  insisted 
on  his  coming  to  the  front.  He  had  to  submit,  and  then 
the  actor  Brizard  entered  the  box,  and  in  view  of  the 
people  placed  a  laurel  crown  on  his  head.  He  modestly 
withdrew  it,  but  all  insisted  on  his  wearing  it,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  let  it  be  replaced.  The  scene  was  unparalleled 
for  sustained  enthusiasm.  The  excitement  of  these  months 
proved  fatal  to  the  strong  constitution  which  might  easily 
have  carried  him  through  a  century  if  he  had  remained  at 
Ferney. 

At  11:15  P-  rn.,  Saturday,  May  30,  1778,  aged  83  years, 
6  months,  and  9  days,  he  died  peacefully  and  without 
pain.  His  body  was  embalmed  and  in  the  evening  of 
June  1st  was  quietly  buried  in  a  near-by  abbey,  the  place 
being  indicated  by  a  small  stone,  and  the  inscription : 
"Here  lies  Voltaire." 

The  king  of  Prussia  delivered  before  the  Berlin  Acad- 
emy a  splendid  eulogium  and  compelled  the  Catholic  clergy 
of  Berlin  to  hold  special  services  in  honor  of  his  friend. 
The  empress  Catherine  wrote  most  kindly  to  Madame 


32  Oliver  Goldsmith 

Denis  and  desired  to  buy  his  library  of  6,210  volumes,  and 
having  done  so,  invited  Wagniere  to  St.  Petersburg  to  ar- 
range the  books  as  they  were  in  Ferney.  Crowned  heads 
bowed  to  this  great  man,  and  the  homage  of  his  native 
Paris  knew  no  bounds. 

After  thirteen  years  of  rest,  his  body,  by  order  of  the 
king  of  France,  was  removed  from  the  church  of  the 
Romilli  to  that  of  Sainte-Genevieve,  in  Paris,  thenceforth 
known  as  the  Pantheon  of  France.  The  magnificent  cor- 
tege was  the  centre  of  the  wildest  enthusiasm.  On  July 
10,  1791,  the  sarcophagus  was  borne  as  far  as  the  site  of 
the  Bastille,  not  yet  completely  razed  to  the  ground.  Here 
it  reposed  for  the  night  on  an  altar  adorned  with  laurels 
and  roses,  and  this  inscription : 

"Upon  this  spot,  where  despotism  chained  thee,  Vol- 
taire, receive  the  homage  of  a  free  people." 

A  hundred  thousand  people  were  in  the  procession. 
At  ten  o'clock  at  night  the  remains  were  placed  near  the 
tombs  of  Descartes  and  Mirabeau.  Here  they  reposed 
until  1814,  when  the  bones  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  were 
sacrilegiously  stolen,  with  the  connivance  of  the  clerics,  and 
burned  with  quicklime  on  a  piece  of  waste  ground.  This 
miserable  act  of  toothless  spite  was  not  publicly  known 
until  1864. 


OLIVER   GOLDSMITH   ON  VOLTAIRE. 

[This  appeared  as  Letter  XLIII.  in  the  Chinese  letters 
afterwards  published  under  the  title  of  "The  Citizen  of 
the  World."] 

We  have  just  received  accounts  here  that  Vol- 
taire, the  poet  and  philosopher  of  Europe,  is  dead. 
He  is  now  beyond  the  reach  of  the  thousand  ene- 
mies who,  while  living,  degraded  his  writings  and 
branded  his  character.  Scarce  a  page  of  his  later 
productions  that  does  not  betray  the  agonies  of  a 
heart  bleeding  under  the  scourge  of  unmerited  re- 


On  Voltaire.  33 

proach.  Happy,  therefore,  at  last  in  escaping  from 
calumny!  happy  in  leaving  a  world  that  was  un- 
worthy of  him  and  his  writings ! 

Let  others  bestrew  the  hearses  of  the  great  with 
panegyric ;  but  such  a  loss  as  the  world  has  now  suf- 
fered affects  me  with  stronger  emotions.  When  a 
philosopher  dies  I  consider  myself  as  losing  a  patron, 
an  instructor,  and  a  friend.  I  consider  the  world 
as  losing  one  who  might  serve  to  console  her  amidst 
the  desolations  of  war  and  ambition.  Nature  every 
day  produce's  in  abundance  men  capable  of  filling 
all  the  requisite  duties  of  authority ;  but  she  is  nig- 
gard in  the  birth  of  an  exalted  mind,  scarcely  pro- 
ducing in  a  century  a  single  genius  to  bless  and  en- 
lighten a  degenerate  age.  Prodigal  in  the  produc- 
tion of  kings,  governors,  mandarins,  chams,  and 
courtiers,  she  seems  to  have  forgotten,  for  more  than 
three  thousand  years,  the  manner  in  which  she  once 
formed  the  brain  of  a  Confucius ;  and  well  it  is  she 
has  forgotten,  when  a  bad  world  gave  him  so  very 
bad  a  reception. 

Whence,  my  friend,  this  malevolence,  which  has 
ever  pursued  the  great,  even  to  the  tomb?  whence 
this  more  than  fiendlike  disposition  of  embittering 
the  lives  of  those  who  would  make  us  more  wise  and 
more  happy  ? 

When  I  cast  my  eye  over  the  fates  of  several  phi- 
losophers, who  have  at  different  periods  enlightened 
mankind,  I  must  confess  it  inspires  me  with  the 
most  degrading  reflections  on  humanity.  When  I 
Vol.  i—3 


34  Oliver  Goldsmith 

read  of  the  stripes  of  Mencius,  the  tortures  of  Tchin, 
the  bowl  of  Socrates,  and  the  bath  of  Seneca ;  when 
I  hear  of  the  persecutions  of  Dante,  the  imprison- 
ment of  Galileo,  the  indignities  suffered  by  Mon- 
taigne, the  banishment  of  Descartes,  the  infamy  of 
Bacon,  and  that  even  Locke  himself  escaped  not 
without  reproach;  when  I  think  on  such  subjects,  I 
hesitate  whether  most  to  blame  the  ignorance  or  the 
villainy  of  my  fellow-creatures. 

Should  you  look  for  the  character  of  Voltaire 
among  the  journalists  and  illiterate  writers  of  the 
age,  you  will  there  find  him  characterized  as  a  mon- 
ster, with  a  head  turned  to  wisdom  and  a  heart  in- 
clining to  vice ;  the  powers  of  his  mind  and  the  base- 
ness of  his  principles  forming  a  detestable  contrast. 
But  seek  for  his  character  among  writers  like  him- 
self, and  you  find  him  very  differently  described. 
You  perceive  him,  in  their  accounts,  possessed  of 
good  nature,  humanity,  greatness  of  soul,  fortitude, 
and  almost  every  virtue;  in  this  description  those 
who  might  be  supposed  best  acquainted  with  his 
character  are  unanimous.  The  royal  Prussian, 
d'Argens,  Diderot,  d'Alembert,  and  Fontenelle,  con- 
spire in  drawing  the  picture,  in  describing  the  friend 
of  man,  and  the  patron  of  every  rising  genius. 

An  inflexible  perseverance  in  what  he  thought 
was  right  and  a  generous  detestation  of  flattery 
formed  the  groundwork  of  this  great  man's  charac- 
ter. From  these  principles  many  strong  virtues  and 
few  faults  arose ;  as  he  was  warm  in  his  friendship 


On  Voltaire.  35 

and  severe  in  his  resentment,  all  that  mention  him 
seem  possessed  of  the  same  qualities,  and  speak  of 
him  with  rapture  or  detestation.  A  person  of  his 
eminence  can  have  few  indifferent  as  to  his  charac- 
ter ;  every  reader  must  be  an  enemy  or  an  admirer. 

This  poet  began  the  course  of  glory  so  early  as 
the  age  of  eighteen,  and  even  then  was  author  of  a 
tragedy  which  deserves  applause.  Possessed  of  a 
small  patrimony,  he  preserved  his  independence  in 
an  age  of  venality;  and  supported  the  dignity  of 
learning  by  teaching  his  contemporary  writers  to  live 
like  him,  above  the  favors  of  the  great.  He  was 
banished  his  native  country  for  a  satire  upon  the 
royal  concubine.  He  had  accepted  the  place  of  his- 
torian to  the  French  king,  but  refused  to  keep  it 
when  he  found  it  was  presented  only  in  order  that 
he  should  be  the  first  flatterer  of  the  state. 

The  great  Prussian  received  him  as  an  ornament 
to  his  kingdom,  and  had  sense  enough  to  value  his 
friendship  and  profit  by  his  instructions.  In  this 
court  he  continued  till  an  intrigue,  with  which  the 
world  seems  hitherto  unacquainted,  obliged  him  to 
quit  that  country.  His  own  happiness,  the  happi- 
ness of  the  monarch,  of  his  sister,  of  a  part  of  the 
court,  rendered  his  departure  necessary. 

Tired  at  length  of  courts  and  all  the  follies  of  the 
great,  he  retired  to  Switzerland,  a  country  of  liberty, 
where  he  enjoyed  tranquillity  and  the  muse.  Here, 
though  without  any  taste  for  magnificence  himself, 
he  usually  entertained  at  his  table  the  learned  and 


36  Oliver  Goldsmith 

polite  of  Europe,  who  were  attracted  by  a  desire  of 
seeing  a  person  from  whom  they  had  received  so 
much  satisfaction.  The  entertainment  was  con- 
ducted with  the  utmost  elegance,  and  the  conver- 
sation was  that  of  philosophers.  Every  country  that 
at  once  united  liberty  and  science  were  his  peculiar 
favorites.  The  being  an  Englishman  was  to  him  a 
character  that  claimed  admiration  and  respect. 

Between  Voltaire  and  the  disciples  of  Confucius 
there  are  many  differences ;  however,  being  of  a  dif- 
ferent opinion  does  not  in  the  least  diminish  my  es- 
teem ;  I  am  not  displeased  with  my  brother  because 
he  happens  to  ask  our  Father  for  favors  in  a  differ- 
ent manner  from  me.  Let  his  errors  rest  in  peace ; 
his  excellencies  deserve  admiration ;  let  me  with  the 
wise  admire  his  wisdom;  let  the  envious  and  the 
ignorant  ridicule  his  foibles ;  the  folly  of  others  is 
ever  most  ridiculous  to  those  who  are  themselves 
most  foolish. — Adieu. 

[Goldsmith  began  a  memoir  of  Voltaire  which  he  did 
not  live  to  finish,  from  which  we  take  this  most  interesting 
picture  of  Voltaire  among  his  friends.] 

Some  disappointments  of  this  kind  served  to  turn 
our  poet  from  a  passion  which  only  tended  to  ob- 
struct his  advancement  in  more  exalted  pursuits. 
His  mind,  which  at  that  time  was  pretty  well  bal- 
anced between  pleasure  and  philosophy,  quickly 
began  to  incline  to  the  latter.  He  now  thirsted  after 
a  more  comprehensive  knowledge  of  mankind  than 


On  Voltaire.  37 

either  books  or  his  own  country  could  possibly  be- 
stow. 

England  about  this  time  was  coming  into  repute 
throughout  Europe  as  the  land  of  philosophers. 
Newton,  Locke,  and  others  began  to  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  curious,  and  drew  hither  a  concourse 
of  learned  men  from  every  part  of  Europe.  Not  our 
learning  alone,  but  our  politics  also  began  to  be  re- 
garded with  admiration;  a  government  in  which 
subordination  and  liberty  were  blended  in  such  just 
proportions  was  now  generally  studied  as  the  finest 
model  of  civil  society.  This  was  an  inducement  suf- 
ficient to  make  Voltaire  pay  a  visit  to  this  land  of 
philosophers  and  of  liberty. 

Accordingly,  in  the  year  1726,  he  came  over  to 
England.  A  previous  acquaintance  with  Atter- 
bury,  bishop  of  Rochester,  and  the  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  was  sufficient  to  introduce  him  among  the 
polite,  and  his  fame  as  a  poet  got  him  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  learned  in  a  country  where  for- 
eigners generally  find  but  a  cool  reception.  He  only 
wanted  introduction ;  his  own  merit  was  enough  to 
procure  the  rest.  As  a  companion,  no  man  ever  ex- 
ceeded him  when  he  pleased  to  lead  the  conversa- 
tion;  which,  however,  was  not  always  the  case.  In 
company  which  he  either  disliked  or  despised,  few 
could  be  more  reserved  than  he ;  but  when  he  was 
warmed  in  discourse  and  had  got  over  a  hesitating 
manner  which  sometimes  he  was  subject  to,  it  was 


38  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

rapture  to  hear  him.  His  meagre  visage  seemed  in- 
sensibly to  gather  beauty;  every  muscle  in  it  had 
meaning,  and  his  eye  beamed  with  unusual  bright- 
ness. The  person  who  writes  this  memoir,  who  had 
the  honor  and  the  pleasure  of  being  his  acquaintance, 
remembers  to  have  seen  him  in  a  select  company 
of  wits  of  both  sexes  at  Paris,  when  the  subject  hap- 
pened to  turn  upon  English  taste  and  learning.  Fon- 
tenelle,  who  was  of  the  party,  and  who,  being  unac- 
quainted with  the  language  or  authors  of  the  country 
he  undertook  to  condemn,  with  a  spirit  truly  vulgar 
began  to  revile  both.  Diderot,  who  liked  the  Eng- 
lish and  knewsomethingof  their  literary  pretensions, 
attempted  to  vindicate  their  poetry  and  learning,  but 
with  unequal  abilities.  The  company  quickly  per- 
ceived that  Fontenelle  was  superior  in  the  dispute, 
and  were  surprised  at  the  silence  which  Voltaire 
had  preserved  all  the  former  part  of  the  night,  par- 
ticularly as  the  conversation  happened  to  turn  upon 
one  of  his  favorite  topics.  Fontenelle  continued  his 
triumph  till  about  12  o'clock,  when  Voltaire  ap- 
peared at  last  roused  from  his  reverie.  His  whole 
frame  seemed  animated.  He  began  his  defence 
with  the  utmost  elegance  mixed  with  spirit,  and  now 
and  then  let  fall  the  finest  strokes  of  raillery  upon 
his  antagonist ;  and  his  harangue  lasted  till  three 
in  the  morning.  I  must  confess,  that,  whether  from 
national  partiality,  or  from  the  elegant  sensibility  of 
his  manner,  I  never  was  so  much  charmed,  nor  did 


Voltaire's  Life  Purpose,  39 

I  ever  remember  so  absolute  a  victory  as  he  gained 

in  this  dispute. 

*     *     * 

[Another  biographer,  writing  early  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  offers  a  judicial  summary  of  Voltaire's  character, 
from  which  we  select  a  few  passages.] 

This  simple  recital  of  the  incidents  of  the  life  of 
Voltaire  has  sufficiently  developed  his  character  and 
his  mind;  the  principal  features  of  which  were 
benevolence,  indulgence  for  human  foibles,  and  a 
hatred  of  injustice  and  oppression.  He  may  be 
numbered  among  the  very  few  men  in  whom  the 
love  of  humanity  was  a  real  passion ;  which,  the 
noblest  of  all  passions,  was  known  only  to  modern 
times,  and  took  rise  from  the  progress  of  knowledge. 
Its  very  existence  is  sufficient  to  confound  the  blind 
partisans  of  antiquity,  and  those  who  calumniate  phi- 
losophy. 

But  the  happy  qualities  of  Voltaire  were  often 
perverted  by  his  natural  restlessness,  which  the 
writing  of  tragedy  had  but  increased.  In  an  instant 
he  would  change  from  anger  to  affection,  from  in- 
dignation to  a  jest.  Born  with  violent  passions, 
they  often  hurried  him  too  far ;  and  his  restlessness 
deprived  him  of  the  advantages  that  usually  accom- 
pany such  minds ;  particularly  of  that  fortitude  to 
which  fear  is  no  obstacle  when  action  becomes  a 
duty,  and  which  is  not  shaken  by  the  presence  of 
danger  foreseen.  Often  would  Voltaire  expose  him- 


4O  Voltaire's  Life  Purpose. 

self  to  the  storm  with  rashness,  but  rarely  did  he 
brave  it  with  constancy;  and  these  intervals  of 
temerity  and  weakness  have  frequently  afflicted  his 
friends  and  afforded  unworthy  cause  of  triumph  to 
his  cowardly  foes.  In  weighing  the  peccadilloes  of 
any  man  due  consideration  must  be  had  for  the 
period  in  which  he  lived,  and  of  the  nature  of  the  so- 
ciety amidst  which  he  was  reared.  Voltaire  was  in 
his  twentieth  year  when  Louis  XIV.  died,  and  con- 
sequently his  very  precocious  adolescence  was  spent 
during  the  reign  of  that  pompous  and  celebrated 
actor  of  majesty.  How  that  season  was  characterized 
as  to  morals  and  the  tone  of  Parisian  good  company, 
an  epitome  of  the  private  life  of  Louis  himself  will 
tell.  The  decorum  and  air  of  state  with  which  Louis 
sinned  was  rather  edifying  than  scandalous,  and  his 
subjects  faithfully  copied  the  grand  monarch.  Gal- 
lantry became  the  order  of  the  day  throughout 
France,  with  a  great  abatement  of  the  chivalrous 
sentiment  that  attended  it  under  the  regency  of 
Anne  of  Austria,  but  still  exempt  from  the  more 
gross  sensuality  that  succeeded  Louis  under  the 
regency  of  the  duke  of  Orleans. 

It  has  been  observed  that  Voltaire  was  altogether 
a  Frenchman,  and  the  remark  will  be  found  just, 
whether  applied  to  the  character  of  the  man  or  the 
genius.  By  increasing  to  intensity  the  national  char- 
acteristics, social,  constitutional  and  mental,  we 
create  a  Voltaire.  These  are  gayety,  facility,  ad- 
dress, a  tendency  to  wit,  raillery,  and  equivoque; 


Voltaire's  Life  Purpose.  41 

light,  quick,  and  spontaneous  feelings  of  humanity, 
which  may  be  occasionally  worked  up  into  enthusi- 
asm; vanity,  irascibility,  very  slipshod  morality  in 
respect  to  points  that  grave  people  are  apt  to  deem  of 
the  first  consequence ;  social  insincerity,  and  a  pre- 
dominant spirit  of  intrigue.  Such  were  the  gener- 
alities of  the  French  character  in  the  days  of  Vol- 
taire; and  multiply  them  by  his  capacity  and  ac- 
quirement, and  we  get  at  the  solid  contents  of  his 
own.  It  is,  therefore,  especially  inconsistent  to  dis- 
cover such  excellence  and  virtue  in  the  old  French 
regime,  and  especially  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV., 
and  to  find  so  much  fault  with  the  tout  ensemble  of 
Voltaire;  for  both  his  good  and  his  bad  qualities 
were  the  natural  outgrowth  of  the  period. 

The  most  detestable  and  odious  of  all  political 
sins  is,  indisputably,  religious  persecution  ;  in  this  is 
to  be  traced  the  source  of  the  early  predisposition  of 
Voltaire,  and  of  the  honorable  enthusiasm  that 
colored  nearly  the  whole  of  his  long  life.  By  acci- 
dent, carelessness,  or  indifference,  he  was  very  early 
allowed  to  imbibe  a  large  portion  of  philosophical 
skepticism,  which  no  after  education — and  he  was 
subsequently  educated  by  Jesuits— could  remove. 
What  was  more  natural  for  a  brilliant,  ardent,  and 
vivacious  young  man,  thus  ardently  vaccinated — if 
the  figure  be  allowable — against  the  smallpox  of 
fanaticism  and  superstition  so  prevalent  in  this  coun- 
try, and  born  during  a  reign  that  revoked  the  Edict 
of  Nantes,  and  expatriated  half  a  million  of  peaceful 


42  Voltaire's  Life  Purpose. 

subjects?  In  what  way  did  his  most  Christian  maj- 
esty, the  magnificent  Louis,  signalize  that  part  of  his 
kingly  career  which  immediately  preceded  the  birth 
of  Voltaire  ?  In  the  famous  dragonnades,  in  which 
a  rude  and  licentious  soldiery  were  encouraged  in 
every  excess  of  cruelty  and  outrage,  because,  to  use 
the  language  of  the  minister  Louvois,  "His  majesty 
was  desirous  that  the  heaviest  penalties  should  be 
put  in  force  against  those  who  are  not  willing  to 
embrace  his  religion ;  and  those  who  have  the  false 
glory  to  remain  longest  firm  in  their  opinions,  must 
be  driven  to  the  last  extremities." 

They  were  so  driven.  It  will  therefore  suffice  to 
repeat  that  at  length  the  Edict  of  Nantes  was  for- 
mally repealed,  Protestants  refused  liberty  of  con- 
science, their  temples  demolished,  their  children 
torn  from  them,  and,  to  crown  all,  attempts  were 
even  made  to  impede  their  emigration.  They  were 
to  be  enclosed  like  wild  beasts  and  hunted  down  at 
leisure. 

Such  were  the  facts  and  horrors  that  must,  in  the 
first  instance,  have  encountered  and  confirmed  the 
incipient  skepticism  of  Voltaire.  What  calm  man, 
of  any  or  of  no  religion,  can  now  hear  of  them  with- 
out shuddering  and  execration  ?  and  what  such  feel 
now  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  a  mind  predis- 
posed like  that  of  Voltaire  must  have  felt  then. 

Next  to  fanaticism -and  superstition,  Voltaire  ap- 
pears to  have  endeavored  with  the  utmost  anxiety 
to  rectify  the  injustice  of  the  public  tribunals,  espe- 


Voltaire's  Life  Purpose.  43 

cially  in  the  provinces,  which  were  in  the  habit  of 
committing  legal  murders  with  a  facility  that  could 
only  be  equalled  by  the  impunity.  Against  the  exe- 
crable tyranny  of  lettres  de  cachet,  by  which  he 
himself  suffered  more  than  once,  he  occasionally 
dated  his  powerful  innuendoes.  No  matter  what  the 
religious  opinions  of  Voltaire  were,  he  uniformly  in- 
culcates political  moderation,  religious  tolerance, 
and  general  good-will. 

Looking,  therefore,  at  the  general  labors  of  this 
premier  genius  of  France  for  the  benefit  of  his  fel- 
low-creatures, he  must,  at  all  events,  be  regarded 
as  a  bold,  active,  and  able  philanthropist,  even  by 
those  who  in  many  respects  disagree  with  him. 

As  a  philosopher,  he  was  the  first  to  afford  an 
example  of  a  private  citizen  who,  by  his  wishes  and 
his  endeavors,  embraced  the  general  history  of  man 
in  every  country  and  in  every  age,  opposing  error 
and  oppression  of  every  kind,  and  defending  and 
promulgating  every  useful  truth.  The  history  of 
whatever  has  been  done  in  Europe  in  favor  of  reason 
and  humanity  is  the  history  of  his  labor  and  benefi- 
cent acts.  If  the  liberty  of  the  press  be  increased; 
if  the  Catholic  clergy  have  lost  their  dangerous 
power,  and  have  been  deprived  of  some  of  their  most 
scandalous  wealth ;  if  the  love  of  humanity  be  now 
the  common  language  of  all  governments ;  if  the 
continent  of  Europe  has  been  taught  that  men  pos- 
sess a  right  to  the  use  of  reason ;  if  religious 
prejudices  have  been  eradicated  from  the  higher 


44  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

classes  of  society,  and  in  part  effaced  from  the  hearts 
of  the  common  people ;  if  we  have  beheld  the  masks 
stripped  from  the  faces  of  those  religious  sectaries 
who  were  privileged  to  impose  on  the  world ;  and  if 
reason,  for  the  first  time,  has  begun  to  shed  its  clear 
and  uniform  light  over  all  Europe — we  shall  every- 
where discover,  in  the  history  of  the  changes  that 
have  been  effected?  the  name  of  Voltaire. 


VICTOR   HUGO   ON  VOLTAIRE. 

[Oration  delivered  at  Paris,  May  30,   1878,  the  one  hun- 
dredth anniversary  of  Voltaire's  death.] 

A  hundred  years  ago  to-day  a  man  died.  He  died 
immortal.  He  departed  laden  with  years,  laden  with 
works,  laden  with  the  most  illustrious  and  the  most 
fearful  of  responsibilities,  the  responsibility  of  the 
human  conscience  informed  and  rectified.  He  went 
cursed  and  blessed,  cursed  by  the  past,  blessed  by 
the  future ;  and  these,  gentlemen,  are  the  two  superb 
forms  of  glory.  On  his  death-bed  he  had,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  acclaim  of  contemporaries  and  of  poster- 
ity; on  the  other,  that  triumph  of  hooting  and  of 
hate  which  the  implacable  past  bestows  upon  those 
who  have  combated  it.  He  was  more  than  a  man; 
he  was  an  age.  He  had  exercised  a  function  and  ful- 
filled a  mission.  He  had  been  evidently  chosen  for 
the  work  which  he  had  done,  by  the  Supreme  Will, 
which  manifests  itself  as  visibly  in  the  laws  of  des- 
tiny as  in  the  laws  of  nature. 


VICTOR      MUC30 


On  Voltaire.  45 

The  eighty-four  years  that  this  man  lived  occupy 
the  interval  that  separates  the  monarchy  at  its  apogee 
from  the  revolution  in  its  dawn.  When  he  was  born, 
Louis  XIV.  still  reigned ;  when  he  died,  Louis  XVI. 
reigned  already;  so  that  his  cradle  could  see  the 
last  rays  of  the  great  throne,  and  his  coffin  the  first 
gleams  from  the  great  abyss. 

Before  going  further,  let  us  come  to  an  under- 
standing, gentlemen,  upon  the  word  abyss.  There 
are  good  abysses ;  such  are  the  abysses  in  which  evil 
is  engulfed. 

Gentlemen,  since  I  have  interrupted  myself,  allow 
me  to  complete  my  thought.  No  word  imprudent  or 
unsound  will  be  pronounced  here.  We  are  here  to. 
perform  an  act  of  civilization.  We  are  here  to  make 
affirmation  of  progress,  to  pay  respect  to  philoso- 
phers for  the  benefits  of  philosophy,  to  bring  to  the 
eighteenth  century  the  testimony  of  the  nineteenth, 
to  honor  magnanimous  combatants  and  good  serv- 
ants, to  felicitate  the  noble  effort  of  peoples,  indus- 
try, science,  the  valiant  march  in  advance,  the  toil  to 
cerrvent  human  concord;  in  one  word,  to  glorify 
peace,  that  sublime,  universal  desire.  Peace  is  the 
virtue  of  civilization ;  war  is  its  crime.  We  are 
here,  at  this  grand  moment,  in  this  solemn  hour,  to 
bow  religiously  before  the  moral  law,  and  to  say  to 
the  world,  which  hears  France,  this :  There  is  only 
one  power,  conscience,  in  the  service  of  justice ;  and 
there  is  only  one  glory,  genius,  in  the  service  of 
truth.  That  said,  I  continue : 


46  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

Before  the  Revolution,  gentlemen,  the  social 
structure  was  this : 

At  the  base,  the  people ; 

Above  the  people,  religion  represented  by  the 
clergy ; 

By  the  side  of  religion,  justice  represented  by  the 
magistracy. 

And,  at  that  period  of  human  society,  what  was 
the  people  ?  It  was  ignorance.  What  was  religion  ? 
It  was  intolerance.  And  what  was  justice?  It  was 
injustice.  Am  I  going  too  far  in  my  words?  Judge. 

I  will  confine  myself  to  the  citation  of  two  facts, 
but  decisive  ones. 

At  Toulouse,  October  13,  1761,  there  was  found 
in  a  lower  story  of  a  house  a  young  man  hanged. 
The  crowd  gathered,  the  clergy  fulminated,  the  mag- 
istracy investigated.  It  was  a  suicide ;  they  made  of 
it  an  assassination.  In  what  interest  ?  In  the  inter- 
est of  religion.  And  who  was  accused  ?  The  father. 
He  was  a  Huguenot,  and  he  wished  to  hinder  his 
son  from  becoming  a  Catholic.  There  was  here  a 
moral  monstrosity  and  a  material  impossibility ;  no 
matter!  This  father  had  killed  his  son;  this  old 
man  had  hanged  this  young  man.  Justice  travailed, 
and  this  was  the  result.  In  the  month  of  March, 
1762,  a  man  with  white  hair,  Jean  Galas,  was  con- 
ducted to  a  public  place,  stripped  naked,  stretched 
on  a  wheel,  the  members  bound  on  it,  the  head  hang- 
ing. Three  men  are  there  upon  a  scaffold ;  a  magis- 
trate, named  David,  charged  to  superintend  the  pun- 


On  Voltaire.  47 

ishment,  a  priest  to  hold  the  crucifix,  and  the  execu- 
tioner with  a  bar  of  iron  in  his  hand.  The  patient, 
stupefied  and  terrible,  regards  not  the  priest,  and 
looks  at  the  executioner.  The  executioner  lifts  the 
bar  of  iron,  and  breaks  one  of  his  arms.  The  victim 
gsoans  and  swoons.  The  magistrate  comes  for- 
ward; they  make  the  condemned  inhale  salts;  he 
returns  to  life.  Then  another  stroke  of  the  bar; 
another  groan.  Galas  loses  consciousness ;  they  re- 
vive him,  and  the  executioner  begins  again  ;  and,  as 
each  limb  before  being  broken  in  two  places  receives 
two  blows,  that  makes  eight  punishments.  After 
the  eighth  swooning  the  priest  offers  him  the  crucifix 
to  kiss ;  Calas  turns  away  his  head,  and  the  execu- 
tioner gives  him  the  coup  de  grace;  that  is  to  say, 
crushes  in  his  chest  with  the  thick  end  of  the  bar  of 
iron.  So  died  Jean  Calas. 

That  lasted  two  hours.  After  his  death  the  evi- 
dence of  the  suicide  came  to  light.  But  an  assassina- 
tion had  been  committed.  By  whom?  By  the 
judges. 

Another  fact.  After  the  old  man,  the  young  man. 
Three  years  later,  in  1765,  in  Abbeville,  the  day  after 
a  night  of  storm  and  high  wind,  there  was  found 
upon  the  pavement  of  a  bridge  an  old  crucifix  of 
worm-eaten  wood,  which  for  three  centuries  had 
been  fastened  to  the  parapet.  Who  had  thrown 
down  this  crucifix?  Who  committed  this  sacrilege? 
It  is  not  known.  Perhaps  a  passer-by.  Perhaps  the 
wind.  Who  is  the  guilty  one?  The  bishop  of 


48  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

Amiens  launches  a  monitoire.  Note  what  a  tnoni- 
toire  was:  it  was  an  order  to  all  the  faithful,  on 
pain  of  hell,  to  declare  what  they  knew  or  believed 
they  knew  of  such  or  such  a  fact ;  a  murderous  in- 
junction, when  addressed  by  fanaticism  to  ignorance. 
The  monitoire  of  the  bishop  of  Amiens  does  its 
work ;  the  town  gossip  assumes  the  character  of  the 
crime  charged.  Justice  discovers,  or  believes  it  dis- 
covers, that  on  the  night  when  the  crucifix  was 
thrown  down,  two  men,  two  officers,  one  named  La 
Barre,  the  other  d'fitallonde,  passed  over  the  bridge 
of  Abbeville,  •  that  they  were  drunk,  and  that  they 
sang  a  guardroom  song.  The  tribunal  was  the  Sen- 
eschalcy  of  Abbeville.  The  Seneschalcy  of  Abbe- 
ville was  equivalent  to  the  court  of  the  Capitouls  of 
Toulouse.  It  was  not  less  just.  Two  orders  for 
arrest  were  issued.  D'fitallonde  escaped,  La  Barre 
was  taken.  Him  they  delivered  to  judicial  examina- 
tion. He  denied  having  crossed  the  bridge ;  he  con- 
fessed to  having  sung  the  song.  The  Seneschalcy 
of  Abbeville  condemned  him;  he  appealed  to  the 
Parliament  of  Paris.  He  was  conducted  to  Paris; 
the  sentence  was  found  good  and  confirmed.  He 
was  conducted  back  to  Abbeville  in  chains.  I 
abridge.  The  monstrous  hour  arrives.  They  begin 
by  subjecting  the  Chevalier  de  La  Barre  to  the  tor- 
ture, ordinary  and  extraordinary,  to  make  him  re- 
veal his  accomplices.  Accomplices  in  what?  In 
having  crossed  a  bridge  and  sung  a  song.  During 
the  torture  one  of  his  knees  was  broken;  his  con- 


On  Voltaire.  49 

fessor,  on  hearing  the  bones  crack,  fainted  away. 
The  next  day,  June  5,  1766,  La  Barre  was  drawn  to 
the  great  square  of  Abbeville,  where  flamed  a  peni- 
tential firei;  the  sentence  was  read  to  La  Barre ;  then 
they  cut  off  one  of  his  hands ;  then  they  tore  out  his 
tongue  with  iron  pincers;  then,  in  mercy,  his  head 
was  cut  off  and  thrown  into  the  fire.  So  died  the 
Chevalier  de  la  Barre.  He  was  nineteen  years  of  age. 

Then,  O  Voltaire !  thou  didst  utter  a  cry  of  hor- 
ror, and  it  will  be  to  thine  eternal  glory! 

Then  didst  thou  enter  upon  the  appalling  trial  of 
the  past ;  thou  didst  plead  against  tyrants  and  mon- 
sters, the  cause  of  the  human  race,  and  thou  didst 
gain  it.  Great  man,  blessed  be  thou  forever. 

The  frightful  things  that  I  have  recalled  were 
accomplished  in  the  midst  of  a  polite  society ;  its  life 
was  gay  and  light ;  people  went  and  came ;  they 
looked  neither  above  nor  below  themselves ;  their 
indifference  had  become  carelessness;  graceful 
poets,  Saint-Aulaire,  Boufflers,  Gentil-Bernard,  com- 
posed pretty  verses ;  the  court  was  all  festival ; 
Versailles  was  brilliant ;  Paris  ignored  what  was 
passing ;  and  then  it  was  that,  through  religious  fe- 
rocity, the  judges  made  an  old  man  die  upon  the 
wheel,  and  the  priests  tore  out  a  child's  tongue  for  a 
song. 

In  the  presence  of  this  society,  frivolous  and  dis- 
mal, Voltaire  alone,  having  before  his  eyes  those 
united  forces,  the  court,  the  nobility,  capital ;  that 

unconscious  power,  the  blind  multitude ;   that  terri- 
Vol.  1—4 


50  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

ble  magistracy,  so  severe  to  subjects,  so  docile  to  the 
master,  crushing  and  flattering,  kneeling  on  the  peo- 
ple before  the  king ;  that  clergy,  vile  melange  of  hyp- 
ocrisy and  fanaticism ;  Voltaire  alone,  I  repeat  it, 
declared  war  against  that  coalition  of  all  the  social 
iniquities,  against  that  enormous  and  terrible  world, 
and  he  accepted  battle  with  it.  And  what  was  his 
weapon  ?  That  which  has  the  lightness  of  the  wind 
and  the  power  of  the  thunderbolt.  A  pen. 

With  that  weapon  he  fought;  with  that  weapon 
he  conquered. 

Gentlemen,  let  us  salute  that  memory. 

Voltaire  conquered;  Voltaire  waged  the  splen- 
did kind  of  warfare,  the  war  of  one  alone  agaijist  all ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  grand  warfare.  The  war  of 
thought  against  matter,  the  war  of  reason  against 
prejudice,  the  war  of  the  just  against  the  unjust, 
the  war  for  the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor ;  the 
war  of  goodness,  the  war  of  kindness.  He  had  the 
tenderness  of  a  \voman  and  the  wrath  of  a  hero.  He 
was  a  great  mind,  and  an  immense  heart. 

He  conquered  the  old  code  and  the  old  dogma. 
He  conquered  the  feudal  lord,  the  Gothic  judge,  the 
Roman  priest.  He  raised  the  populace  to  the  dignity 
of  people.  He  taught,  pacificated,  and  civilized.  He 
fought  for  Sirven  and  Montbailly,  as  for  Galas  and 
La  Barre ;  he  accepted  all  the  menaces,  all  the  out- 
rages, all  the  persecutions,  calumny,  and  exile.  He 
was  indefatigable  and  immovable.  He  conquered 
violence  by  a  smile,  despotism  by  sarcasm,  infalli- 


On  Voltaire.  51 

bility  by  irony,  obstinacy  by  perseverance,  ignorance 
by  truth. 

I  have  just  pronounced  the  word,  smile.  I  pause 
at  it.  Smile!  It  is  Voltaire. 

Let  us  say  it,  gentlemen,  pacification  is  the  great 
side  of  the  philosopher ;  in  Voltaire  the  equilibrium 
always  re-establishes  itself  at  last.  Whatever  may 
be  his  just  wrath,  it  passes,  and  the  irritated  Voltaire 
always  gives  place  to  the  Voltaire  calmed.  Then  in 
that  profound  eye  the  SMILE  appears. 

That  smile  is  wisdom.  That  smile,  I  repeat,  is 
Voltaire.  That  smile  sometimes  becomes  laughter, 
but  the  philosophic  sadness  tempers  it.  Toward  the 
strong  it  is  mockery ;  toward  the  weak  it  is  a  caress. 
It  disquiets  the  oppressor,  and  reassures  the  op- 
pressed. Against  the  great,  it  is  raillery ;  for  the  lit- 
tle, it  is  pity.  Ah,  let  us  be  moved  by  that  smile! 
It  had  in  it  the  rays  of  the  dawn.  It  illuminated 
the  true,  the  just,  the  good,  and  what  there  is  of 
worthy  in  the  useful.  It  lighted  up  the  interior  of 
superstitions.  Those  ugly  things  it  is  salutary  to 
see ;  he  has  shown  them.  Luminous,  that  smile  was 
fruitful  also.  The  new  society,  the  desire  for  equal- 
ity and  concession,  and  that  beginning  of  fraternity 
which  called  itself  tolerance,  reciprocal  good-will, 
the  just  accord  of  men  and  rights,  reason  recognized 
as  the  supreme  law,  the  annihilation  of  prejudices 
and  fixed  opinions,  the  serenity  of  souls,  the  spirit 
of  indulgence  and  of  pardon,  harmony,  peace — be- 
hold, what  has  come  from  that  great  smile ! 


52  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

On  the  day — very  near,  without  any  doubt — when 
the  identity  of  wisdom  and  clemency  will  be  recog- 
nized, the  day  when  the  amnesty  will  be  proclaimed, 
I  affirm  it,  up  there,  in  the  stars,  Voltaire  will  smile. 

Gentlemen,  between  two  servants  of  Humanity, 
who  appeared  eighteen  hundred  years  apart,  there 
is  a  mysterious  relation. 

To  combat  Pharisaism ;  to  unmask  imposture ;  to 
overthrow  tyrannies,  usurpations,  prejudices,  false- 
hoods, superstitions ;  to  demolish  the  temple  in  order 
to  rebuild  it,  that  is  to  say,  to  replace  the  false  by 
the  true ;  to  attack  a  ferocious  magistracy ;  to  attack 
a  sanguinary  priesthood;  to  take  a  whip  and  drive 
the  money-changers  from  the  sanctuary ;  to  reclaim 
the  heritage  of  the  disinherited ;  to  protect  the  weak, 
the  poor,  the  suffering,  the  overwhelmed,  to  strug- 
gle for  the  persecuted  and  oppressed — that  was  the 
war  of  Jesus  Christ !  And  who  waged  that  war?  It 
was  Voltaire. 

The  completion  of  the  evangelical  work  is  the 
philosophical  work;  the  spirit  of  meekness  began, 
the  spirit  of  tolerance  continued.  Let  us  say  it  with 
a  sentiment  of  profound  respect ;  JESUS  WEPT  ;  VOL- 
TAIRE SMILED.  Of  that  divine  tear  and  of  that  hu- 
man smile  is  composed  the  sweetness  of  the  present 
civilization. 

Did  Voltaire  always  smile?  No.  He  was  often 
indignant.  You  remarked  it  in  my  first  words. 

Certainly,  gentlemen,  measure,  reserve,  propor- 
tion are  reason's  supreme  law.  We  can  say  that 


On  Voltaire.  53 

moderation  is  the  very  breath  of  the  philosopher. 
The  effort  of  the  wise  man  ought  to  be  to  condense 
into  a  sort  of  serene  certainty  all  the  approximations 
of  which  philosophy  is  composed.  But  at  certain 
moments,  the  passion  for  the  true  rises  powerful  and 
violent,  and  it  is  within  its  right  in  so  doing,  like 
the  stormy  winds  which  purify.  Never,  I  insist  upon 
it,  will  any  wise  man  shake  those  two  august  sup- 
ports of  social  labor,  justice  and  hope ;  and  all  will 
respect  the  judge  if  he  is  embodied  justice,  and  all 
will  venerate  the  priest  if  he  represents  hope.  But 
if  the  magistracy  calls  itself  torture,  if  the  Church 
calls  itself  Inquisition,  then  Humanity  looks  them  in 
the  face  and  says  to  the  judge :  "I  will  none  of  thy 
law!"  and  says  to  the  priest:  "I  will  none  of  thy 
dogma !  I  will  none  of  thy  fire  on  the  earth  and  thy 
hell  in  the  future !"  Then  philosophy  rises  in  wrath, 
and  arraigns  the  judge  before  justice,  and  the  priest 
before  God ! 

This  is  what  Voltaire  did.    It  was  grand. 

What  Voltaire  was,  I  have  said;  what  his  age 
was,  I  am  about  to  say. 

Gentlemen,  great  men  rarely  come  alone;  large 
trees  seem  larger  when  they  dominate  a  forest ; 
there  they  are  at  home.  There  was  a  forest  of  minds 
around  Voltaire;  that  forest  was  the  eighteenth 
century.  Among  those  minds  there  were  summits : 
Montesquieu,  Buffon,  Beaumarchais,  and  among 
others,  two,  the  highest  after  Voltaire,  Rousseau  and 
Diderot.  Those  thinkers  taught  men  to  reason ;  rea- 


54  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

soning  well  leads  to  acting  well;  justness  in  the 
mind  becomes  justice  in  the  heart.  Those  toilers 
for  progress  labored  usefully.  Buffon  founded  nat- 
uralism; Beaumarchais  discovered,  outside  of  Mo- 
liere,  a  kind  of  comedy  until  then  unknown  almost, 
the  social  comedy ;  Montesquieu  made  in  law  some 
excavations  so  profound  that  he  succeeded  in  ex- 
huming the  right.  As  to  Rousseau,  as  to  Diderot, 
let  us  pronounce  those  two  names  apart ;  Diderot, 
a  vast  intelligence,  inquisitive,  a  tender  heart,  a  thirst 
for  justice,  wished  to  give  certain  notions  as  the 
foundation  of  true  ideas,  and  created  the  Encyclo- 
paedia. Rousseau  rendered  to  woman  an  admirable 
service,  completing  the  mother  by  the  nurse,  placing 
near  each  other  those  two  majesties  of  the  cradle. 
Rousseau,  a  writer,  eloquent  and  pathetic,  a  pro- 
found oratorical  dreamer,  often  divined  and  pro- 
claimed political  truth ;  his  ideal  borders  on  the  real ; 
he  had  the  glory  of  being  the  first  man  in  France  who 
called  himself  citizen.  The  civic  fibre  vibrates  in 
Rousseau;  that  which  vibrates  in  Voltaire  is  the 
universal  fibre.  One  can  say  that  in  the  fruitful 
eighteenth  century,  Rousseau  represented  the  peo- 
ple ;  Voltaire,  still  more  vast,  represented  Man. 
Those  powerful  writers  disappeared,  but  they  left  us 
their  soul,  the  Revolution. 

Yes,  the  French  Revolution  was  their  soul.  It 
was  their  radiant  manifestation.  It  came  from  them  ; 
we  find  them  everywhere  in  that  blessed  and  superb 
catastrophe,  which  formed  the  conclusion  of  the 


On  Voltaire.  55 

past  and  the  opening  of  the  future.  In  that  clear 
light,  which  is  peculiar  to  revolutions,  and  which  be- 
yond causes  permits  us  to  perceive  effects,  and  be- 
yond the  first  plan  the  second,  we  see  behind  Dan- 
ton  Diderot,  behind  Robespierre  Rousseau,  and  be- 
hind Mirabeau  Voltaire.  These  formed  those. 

Gentlemen,  to  sum  up  epochs,  by  giving  them  the 
names  of  men,  to  name  ages,  to  make  of  them  in 
some  sort  human  personages,  has  only  been  done  by 
three  peoples:  Greece,  Italy,  France.  We  say,  the 
Age  of  Pericles,  the  Age  of  Augustus,  the  Age  of 
Leo  X.,  the  Age  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  Age  of  Vol- 
taire. Those  appellations  have  a  great  significance. 
This  privilege  of  giving  names  to  periods  belonging 
exclusively  to  Greece,  to  Italy,  and  to  France,  is  the 
highest  mark  of  civilization.  Until  Voltaire,  they 
were  the  names  of  the  chiefs  of  states ;  Voltaire  is 
more  than  the  chief  of  a  state ;  he  is  a  chief  of  ideas ; 
with  Voltaire  a  new  cycle  begins.  We  feel  that 
henceforth  the  supreme  governmental  power  is  to 
be  thought.  Civilization  obeyed  force;  it  will  obey 
the  ideal.  It  was  the  sceptre  and  the  sword  broken, 
to  be  replaced  by  the  ray  of  light ;  that  is  to  say,  au- 
thority transfigured  into  liberty.  Henceforth,  no 
other  sovereignty  than  the  law  for  the  people,  and 
the  conscience  for  the  individual.  For  each  of  us, 
the  two  aspects  of  progress  separate  themselves 
clearly,  and  they  are  these :  to  exercise  one's  right ; 
that  is  to  say,  to  be  a  man ;  to  perform  one's  duty ; 
that  is  to  say,  to  be  a  citizen. 


56  Victor  Hugo's  Oration 

Such  is  the  signification  of  that  word,  the  Age  of 
Voltaire ;  such  is  the  meaning  of  that  august  event, 
the  French  Revolution. 

The  two  memorable  centuries  that  preceded  the 
eighteenth,  prepared  for  it;  Rabelais  warned  roy- 
alty in  Gargantua,  and  Moliere  warned  the  Church 
in  Tartuffe.  Hatred  of  force  and  respect  for  right 
are  visible  in  those  two  illustrious  spirits. 

Whoever  says  to-day,  might  makes  right,  per- 
forms an  act  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  speaks  to  men 
three  hundred  years  behind  their  time. 

Gentlemen,  the  nineteenth  century  glorifies  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  eighteenth  proposed,  the 
nineteenth  concludes.  And  my  last  word  will  be  the 
declaration,  tranquil  but  inflexible,  of  progress. 

The  time  has  come.  The  right  has  found  its 
formula:  human  federation. 

To-day,  force  is  called  violence,  and  begins  to  be 
judged;  war  is  arraigned.  Civilization,  upon  the 
complaint  of  the  human  race,  orders  the  trial,  and 
draws  up  the  great  criminal  indictment  of  conquer- 
ors and  captains.  This  witness,  History,  is  sum- 
moned. The  reality  appears.  The  factitious  bril- 
liancy is  dissipated.  In  many  cases  the  hero  is  a 
species  of  assassin.  The  peoples  begin  to  compre- 
hend that  increasing  the  magnitude  of  a  crime  can- 
not be  its  diminution ;  that,  if  to  kill  is  a  crime,  to 
kill  many  cannot  be  an  extenuating  circumstance; 
that,  if  to  steal  is  a  shame,  to  invade  cannot  be  a 
glory ;  that  Te  Deums  do  not  count  for  much  in  this 


On  Voltaire.  57 

matter ;  that  homicide  is  homicide ;  that  bloodshed 
is  bloodshed ;  that  it  serves  nothing  to  call  one's  self 
Caesar  or  Napoleon;  and  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
eternal  God,  the  figure  of  a  murderer  is  not  changed 
because,  instead  of  a  gallows  cap,  there  is  placed 
upon  his  head  an  emperor's  crown. 

Ah !  let  us  proclaim  absolute  truths.  Let  us  dis- 
honor war.  No ;  glorious  war  does  not  exist.  No ; 
it  is  not  good,  and  it  is  not  useful,  to  make  corpses. 
No ;  it  cannot  be  that  life  travails  for  death.  No ; 
oh,  mothers  that  surround  me,  it  cannot  be  that  war, 
the  robber,  should  continue  to  take  from  you  your 
children.  No ;  it  cannot  be  that  women  should  bear 
children  in  pain,  that  men  should  be  born,  that  people 
should  plow  and  sow,  that  the  farmer  should  fer- 
tilize the  fields,  and  the  workmen  enrich  the  city, 
that  industry  should  produce  marvels,  that  genius 
should  produce  prodigies,  that  the  vast  human  activ- 
ity should  in  presence  of  the  starry  sky,  multiply 
efforts  and  creations,  all  to  result  in  that  frightful 
international  exposition  which  is  called  a  field  of 
battle ! 

The  true  field  of  battle,  behold  it  here !  It  is  this 
rendezvous  of  the  masterpieces  of  human  labor 
which  Paris  offers  the  world  at  this  moment.* 

The  true  victory  is  the  victory  of  Paris. 

Alas!  we  cannot  hide  it  from  ourselves,  that  the 
present  hour,  worthy  as  it  is  of  admiration  and  re- 
spect, has  still  some  mournful  aspects;  there  are 

*The  exposition  of  1878  was  then  open  in  Paris. 


58  Victor  Hugo's  Oration. 

still  shadows  on  the  horizon ;  the  tragedy  of  the  peo- 
ples is  not  finished ;  war,  wicked  war,  is  still  there, 
and  it  has  the  audacity  to  lift  its  head  in  the  midst 
of  this  august  festival  of  peace.  Princes  for  two 
years  past,  obstinately  adhere  to  a  fatal  misunder- 
standing ;  their  discord  forms  an  obstacle  to  our  con- 
cord, and  they  are  ill-inspired  to  condemn  us  to  the 
statement  of  such  a  contrast. 

Let  this  contrast  lead  us  back  to  Voltaire.  In  the 
presence  of  menacing  possibilities,  let  us  be  more 
pacific  than  ever.  Let  us  turn  toward  that  great 
death,  toward  that  great  life,  toward  that  great  spirit. 
Let  us  bend  before  the  venerated  tombs.  Let  us  take 
counsel  of  him  whose  life,  useful  to  men,  was  ex- 
tinguished a  hundred  years  ago,  but  whose  work  is 
immortal.  Let  us  take  counsel  of  the  other  powerful 
thinkers,  the  auxiliaries  of  this  glorious  Voltaire,  of 
Jean  Jacques,  of  Diderot,  of  Montesquieu.  Let  us 
give  the  word  to  those  great  voices.  Let  us  stop  the 
effusion  of  human  blood.  Enough !  enough !  des- 
pots !  Ah !  barbarism  persists ;  very  well,  let  civili- 
zation be  indignant.  Let  the  eighteenth  century 
come  to  the  help  of  the  nineteenth.  The  philoso- 
phers, our  predecessors,  are  the  apostles  of  the  true ; 
let  us  invoke  those  illustrious  shades ;  let  them,  be- 
fore monarchies  meditate  wars,  proclaim  the  right  of 
man  to  life,  the  right  of  conscience  to  liberty,  the 
sovereignty  of  reason,  the  holiness  of  labor,  the 
beneficence  of  peace;  and  since  night  issues  from 
the  thrones,  let  the  light  come  from  the  tombs. 


CANDIDE;  OR,  THE  OPTIMIST. 


[To  fully  appreciate  "Candide,"  the  most  exquisite 
piece  of  philosophical  banter  ever  penned,  it  should  be  re- 
membered that  Rousseau  and  Pope  had  been  preaching  the 
creed  that  "whatever  is,  is  right,"  in  this  "best  of  all  pos- 
sible worlds."  The  terrible  earthquake  at  Lisbon  thun- 
dered a  scathing  commentary  on  this  comfortable  gospel. 
Voltaire  gave  it  noble  expression  in  his  poem  on  that  ca- 
lamity, which  should  be  read  before  "Candide"  is  en- 
joyed. The  dignified  eloquence  and  force  of  the  poem 
moved  Rousseau  to  attempt  a  reply  in  an  ingenious  letter 
upholding  the  doctrine  so  shaken  in  its  base.  Disdaining 
a  serious  rejoinder  Voltaire  retorted  in  this,  the  drollest 
of  profoundly  philosophic  queer  stories,  which  throws  a 
merciless  search-light  on  the  flimsier  optimism  of  the 
period,  and  stands  as  a  perfect  example  of  literary  style, 
razing  a  Babel  tower  by  the  wave  of  a  feather.] 


CANDIDE;  OR,  THE  OPTIMIST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  CANDIDE  WAS  BROUGHT  UP  IN  A  MAGNIFICENT 
CASTLE  AND  HOW  HE  WAS  DRIVEN  THENCE. 

IN  THE  country  of  Westphalia,  in  the  castle  of 
the  most  noble  baron  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh,  lived 
a  youth  whom  nature  had  endowed  with  a  most 
sweet  disposition.  His  face  was  the  true  index  of 
his  mind.  He  had  a  solid  judgment  joined  to  the 
most  unaffected  simplicity;  and  hence,  I  presume, 
he  had  his  name  of  Candide.  The  old  servants  of 
the  house  suspected  him  to  have  been  the  son  of 
the  baron's  sister,  by  a  very  good  sort  of  a  gentle- 
man of  the  neighborhood,  whom  that  young  lady  re- 
fused to  marry,  because  he  could  produce  no  more 
than  threescore  and  eleven  quarterings  in  his  arms ; 
the  rest  of  the  genealogical  tree  belonging  to  the 
family  having  been  lost  through  the  injuries  of  time. 

The  baron  was  one  of  the  most  powerful  lords  in 
Westphalia ;  for  his  castle  had  not  only  a  gate,  but 
even  windows;  and  his  great  hall  was  hung  with 
tapestry.  He  used  to  hunt  with  his  mastiffs  and 
spaniels  instead  of  greyhounds ;  his  groom  served 
him  for  huntsman;  and  the  parson  of  the  parish 

61 


62  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

officiated  as  his  grand  almoner.  He  was  called  My 
Lord  by  all  his  people,  and  he  never  told  a  story 
but  every  one  laughed  at  it. 

My  lady  baroness  weighed  three  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  consequently  was  a  person  of  no  small 
consideration;  and  then  she  did  the  honors  of  the 
house  with  a  dignity  that  commanded  universal 
respect.  Her  daughter  was  about  seventeen  years 
of  age,  fresh  colored,  comely,  plump,  and  desirable. 
The  baron's  son  seemed  to  be  a  youth  in  every  re- 
spect worthy  of  the  father  he  sprung  from.  Pan- 
gloss,  the  preceptor,  was  the  oracle  of  the  family, 
and  little  Candide  listened  to  his  instructions  with 
all  the  simplicity  natural  to  his  age  and  disposition. 

Master  Pangloss  taught  the  metaphysico-theo- 
logo-cosmolo-nigology.  He  could  prove  to  admira- 
tion that  there  is  no  effect  without  a  cause ;  and,  that 
in  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  the  baron's  castle 
was  the  most  magnificent  of  all  castles,  and  my  lady 
the  best  of  all  possible  baronesses. 

It  is  demonstrable,  said  he,  that  things  cannot  be 
otherwise  than  as  they  are;  for  as  all  things  have 
been  created  for  some  end,  they  must  necessarily  be 
created  for  the  best  end.  Observe,  for  instance,  the 
nose  is  formed  for  spectacles,  therefore  we  wear 
spectacles.  The  legs  are  visibly  designed  for  stock- 
ings, accordingly  we  wear  stockings.  Stones  were 
made  to  be  hewn,  and  to  construct  castles,  therefore 
My  Lord  has  a  magnificent  castle ;  for  the  greatest 
baron  in  the  province  ought  to  be  the  best  lodged. 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  63 

Swine  were  intended  to  be  eaten,  therefore  we  eat 
pork  all  the  year  round :  and  they,  who  assert  that 
everything  is  right,  do  not  express  themselves  cor- 
rectly ;  they  should  say  that  everything  is  best. 

Candide  listened  attentively,  and  believed  implic- 
itly; for  he  thought  Miss  Cunegund  excessively 
handsome,  though  he  never  had  the  courage  to  tell 
her  so.  He  concluded  that  next  to  the  happiness  of 
being  baron  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh,  the  next  was 
that  of  being  Miss  Cunegund,  the  next  that  of  see- 
ing her  every  day,  and  the  last  that  of  hearing  the 
doctrine  of  Master  Pangloss,  the  greatest  philoso- 
pher of  the  whole  province,  and  consequently  of  the 
whole  world. 

One  day  when  Miss  Cunegund  went  to  take  a 
walk  in  a  little  neighboring  wood  which  was  called 
a  park,  she  saw,  through  the  bushes,  the  sage  Doc- 
tor Pangloss  giving  a  lecture  in  experimental  phi- 
losophy to  her  mother's  chambermaid,  a  little 
brown  wench,  very  pretty,  and  very  tractable.  As 
Miss  Cunegund  had  a  great  disposition  for  the 
sciences,  she  observed  with  the  utmost  attention  the 
experiments,  which  were  repeated  before  her  eyes ; 
she  perfectly  well  understood  the  force  of  the  doc- 
tor's reasoning  upon  causes  and  effects.  She  retired 
greatly  flurried,  quite  pensive  and  filled  with  the  de- 
sire of  knowledge,  imagining  that  she  might  be  a 
sufficing  reason  for  young  Candide,  and  he  for  her. 

On  her  way  back  she  happened  to  meet  the  young 
man ;  she  blushed,  he  blushed  also ;  she  wished  him 


64  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

a  good  morning  in  a  flattering  tone,  he  returned  the 
salute,  without  knowing  what  he  said.  The  next 
day,  as  they  were  rising  from  dinner,  Cunegund  and 
Candide  slipped  behind  the  screen.  The  miss 
dropped  her  handkerchief,  the  young  man  picked  it 
up.  She  innocently  took  hold  of  his  hand,  and  he  as 
innocently  kissed  hers  with  a  warmth,  a  sensibility, 
a  grace — all  very  particular;  their  lips  met;  their 
eyes  sparkled;  their  knees  trembled;  their  hands 
strayed.  The  baron  chanced  to  come  by ;  he  beheld 
the  cause  and  effect,  and,  without  hesitation,  saluted 
Candide  with  some  notable  kicks  on  the  breech,  and 
drove  him  out  of  doors.  The  lovely  Miss  Cunegund 
fainted  away,  and,  as  soon  as  she  came  to  herself, 
the  baroness  boxed  her  ears.  Thus  a  general  con- 
sternation was  spread  over  this  most  magnificent  and 
most  agreeable  of  all  possible  castles. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHAT    BEFELL    CANDIDE    AMONG    THE    BULGARIANS. 

CANDIDE,  thus  driven  out  of  this  terrestrial  para- 
dise, rambled  a  long  time  without  knowing  where 
he  went ;  sometimes  he  raised  his  eyes,  all  bedewed 
with  tears,  towards  heaven,  and  sometimes  he  cast 
a  melancholy  look  towards  the  magnificent  castle, 
where  dwelt  the  fairest  of  young  baronesses.  He 
laid  himself  down  to  sleep  in  a  furrow,  heartbroken, 
and  supperless.  The  snow  fell  in  great  flakes,  and* 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  65 

in  the  morning  when  he  awoke,  he  was  almost  frozen 
to  death;  however,  he  made  shift  to  crawl  to  the 
next  town,  which  was  called  Wald-berghoff-trarbk- 
dikdorff,  without  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  and  half 
dead  with  hunger  and  fatigue.  He  took  up  his 
stand  at  the  door  of  an  inn.  He  had  not  been  long 
there,  before  two  men  dressed  in  blue,  fixed  their 
eyes  steadfastly  upon  him.  "Faith,  comrade,"  said 
one  of  them  to  the  other,  "yonder  is  a  well  made 
young  fellow,  and  of  the  right  size."  Upon  which 
they  made  up  to  Candide,  and  with  the  greatest 
civility  and  politeness  invited  him  to  dine  with  them. 
"Gentlemen,"  replied  Candide,  with  a  most  engag- 
ing modesty,  "you  do  me  much  honor,  but  upon  my 
word  I  have  no  money."  "Money,  sir!"  said  one  of 
the  blues  to  him,  "young  persons  of  your  appearance 
and  merit  never  pay  anything;  why,  are  not  you 
five  feet  five  inches  high?"  "Yes,  gentlemen,  that 
is  really  my  size,"  replied  he,  with  a  low  bow. 
"Come  then,  sir,  sit  down  along  with  us;  we  will 
not  only  pay  your  reckoning,  but  will  never  suffer 
such  a  clever  young  fellow  as  you  to  want  money. 
Men  were  born  to  assist  one  another."  "You  are 
perfectly  right,  gentlemen,"  said  Candide,  "this  is 
precisely  the  doctrine  of  Master  Pangloss ;  and  I  am 
convinced  that  everything  is  for  the  best."  His 
generous  companions  next  entreated  him  to  accept 
of  a  few  crowns,  which  he  readily  complied  with, 
at  the  same  time  offering  them  his  note  for  the  pay- 
ment, which  they  refused,  and  sat  down  to  table. 
Vol.  1—5 


66  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

"Have  you  not  a  great  affection  for — "  "O  yes !  I 
have  a  great  affection  for  the  lovely  Miss  Cune- 
gund."  "May  be  so,"  replied  one  of  the  blues,  "but 
that  is  not  the  question !  We  ask  you  whether  you 
have  not  a  great  affection  for  the  king  of  the  Bul- 
garians?" "For  the  king  of  the  Bulgarians?"  said 
Candide,  "oh  Lord !  not  at  all,  why  I  never  saw  him 
in  my  life."  "Is  it  possible!  oh,  he  is  a  most  charm- 
ing king !  Come,  we  must  drink  his  health."  "With 
all  my  heart,  gentlemen,"  says  Candide,  and  off  he 
tossed  his  glass.  "Bravo !"  cry  the  blues ;  "you  are 
now  the  support,  the  defender,  the  hero  of  the  Bul- 
garians ;  your  fortune  is  made ;  you  are  in  the  high 
road  to  glory."  So  saying,  they  handcuffed  him, 
and  carried  him  away  to  the  regiment.  There  he 
was  made  to  wheel  about  to  the  right,  to  the  left, 
to  draw  his  rammer,  to  return  his  rammer,  to  pre- 
sent, to  fire,  to  march,  and  they  gave  him  thirty 
blows  with  a  cane;  the  next  day  he  performed  his 
exercise  a  little  better,  and  they  gave  him  but 
twenty;  the  day  following  he  came  off  with  ten, 
and  was  looked  upon  as  a  young  fellow  of  surpris- 
ing genius  by  all  his  comrades. 

Candide  was  struck  with  amazement,  and  could 
not  for  the  soul  of  him  conceive  how  he  came  to  be  a 
hero.  One  fine  spring  morning,  he  took  it  into  his 
head  to  take  a  walk,  and  he  marched  straight  for- 
ward, conceiving  it  to  be  a  privilege  of  the  human 
species,  as  well  as  of  the  brute  creation,  to  make  use 
of  their  legs  how  and  when  they  pleased.  He  had  not 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  67 

gone  above  two  leagues  when  he  was  overtaken  by 
four  other  heroes,  six  feet  high,  who  bound  him  neck 
and  heels,  and  carried  him  to  a  dungeon.  A  court- 
martial  sat  upon  him,  and  he  was  asked  which  he 
liked  better,  to  run  the  gauntlet  six  and  thirty  times 
through  the  whole  regiment,  or  to  have  his  brains 
blown  out  with  a  dozen  musket-balls?  In  vain  did 
he  remonstrate  to  them  that  the  human  will  is  free, 
and  that  he  chose  neither ;  they  obliged  him  to  make 
a  choice,  and  he  determined,  in  virtue  of  that  divine 
gift  called  free  will,  to  run  the  gauntlet  six  and  thirty 
times.  He  had  gone  through  his  discipline  twice, 
and  the  regiment  being  composed  of  2,000  men, 
they  composed  for  him  exactly  4,000  strokes,  which 
laid  bare  all  his  muscles  and  nerves  from  the  nape 
of  his  neck  to  his  stern.  As  they  were  preparing 
to  make  him  set  out  the  third  time  our  young  hero, 
unable  to  support  it  any  longer,  begged  as  a  favor 
that  they  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  shoot  him 
through  the  head ;  the  favor  being  granted,  a  band- 
age was  tied  over  his  eyes,  and  he  was  made  to  kneel 
down.  At  that  very  instant,  his  Bulgarian  majesty 
happening  to  pass  by  made  a  stop,  and  inquired  into 
the  delinquent's  crime,  and  being  a  prince  of  great 
penetration,  he  found,  from  what  he  heard  of  Can- 
dide, that  he  was  a  young  metaphysician,  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  world;  and  therefore,  out  of  his 
great  clemency,  he  condescended  to  pardon  him,  for 
which  his  name  will  be  celebrated  in  every  journal, 
and  in  every  age.  A  skilful  surgeon  made  a  cure  of 


68  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  flagellated  Candide  in  three  weeks  by  means  of 
emollient  unguents  prescribed  by  Dioscorides.  His 
sores  were  now  skinned  over  and  he  was  able  to 
march,  when  the  king  of  the  Bulgarians  gave  battle 
to  the  king  of  the  Abares. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HOW  CANDIDE  ESCAPED  FROM  THE  BULGARIANS,  AND 
WHAT   BEFELL    HIM    AFTERWARDS. 

NEVER  was  anything  so  gallant,  so  well  accoutred, 
so  brilliant,  and  so  finely  disposed  as  the  two  armies. 
The  trumpets,  fifes,  hautboys,  drums,  and  cannon 
made  such  harmony  as  never  was  heard  in  hell  it- 
self. The  entertainment  began  by  a  discharge  of 
cannon,  which,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  laid  flat 
about  6,000  men  on  each  side.  The  musket  bullets 
swept  away,  out  of  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds, 
nine  or  ten  thousand  scoundrels  that  infested  its  sur- 
face. The  bayonet  was  next  the  sufficient  reason  of 
the  deaths  of  several  thousands.  The  whole  might 
amount  to  thirty  thousand  souls.  Candide  trembled 
like  a  philosopher,  and  concealed  himself  as  well  as 
he  could  during  this  heroic  butchery. 

At  length,  while  the  two  kings  were  causing  Te 
Deums  to  be  sung  in  their  camps,  Candide  took  a 
resolution  to  go  and  reason  somewhere  else  upon 
causes  and  effects.  After  passing  over  heaps  of 
dead  or  dying  men,  the  first  place  he  came  to  was 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  69 

a  neighboring  village,  in  the  Abarian  territories, 
which  had  been  burned  to  the  ground  by  the  Bul- 
garians, agreeably  to  the  laws  of  war.  Here  lay 
a  number  of  old  men  covered  with  wounds,  who  be- 
held their  wives  dying  with  their  throats  cut,  and 
hugging  their  children  to  their  breasts,  all  stained 
with  blood.  There  several  young  virgins,  whose 
bodies  had  been  ripped  open,  after  they  had  satis- 
fied the  natural  necessities  of  the  Bulgarian  heroes, 
breathed  their  last ;  while  others,  half  burned  in  the 
flames,  begged  to  be  despatched  out  of  the  world. 
The  ground  about  them  was  covered  with  the  brains, 
arms,  and  legs  of  dead  men. 

Candide  made  all  the  haste  he  could  to  another 
village,  which  belonged  to  the  Bulgarians,  and  there 
he  found  the  heroic  Abares  had  enacted  the  same 
tragedy.  Thence  continuing  to  walk  over  palpitat- 
ing limbs,  or  through  ruined  buildings,  at  length 
he  arrived  beyond  the  theatre  of  war,  with  a  little 
provision  in  his  budget,  and  Miss  Cunegund's  image 
in  his  heart.  When  he  arrived  in  Holland  his  pro- 
vision failed  him ;  but  having  heard  that  the  inhab- 
itants of  that  country  were  all  rich  and  Christians, 
he  made  himself  sure  of  being  treated  by  them  in 
the  same  manner  as  at  the  baron's  castle,  before  he 
had  been  driven  thence  through  the  power  of  Miss 
Cunegund's  bright  eyes. 

He  asked  charity  of  several  grave-looking  people, 
who  one  and  all  answered  him,  that  if  he  continued 
to  follow  this  trade  they  would  have  him  sent  to  the 


yo  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

house  of  correction,  where  he  should  be  taught  to 
get  his  bread. 

He  next  addressed  himself  to  a  person  who  had 
just  come  from  haranguing  a  numerous  assembly 
for  a  whole  hour  on  the  subject  of  charity.  The 
orator,  squinting  at  him  under  his  broad-brimmed 
hat,  asked  him  sternly,  what  brought  him  thither 
and  whether  he  was  for  the  good  old  cause?  "Sir," 
said  Candide,  in  a  submissive  manner,  "I  conceive 
there  can  be  no  effect  without  a  cause;  everything 
is  necessarily  concatenated  and  arranged  for  the  best. 
It  was  necessary  that  I  should  be  banished  from 
the  presence  of  Miss  Cunegund ;  that  I  should  after- 
wards run  the  gauntlet;  and  it  is  necessary  I 
should  beg  my  bread,  till  I  am  able  to  get  it :  all  this 
could  not  have  been  otherwise."  "Hark  ye,  friend," 
said  the  orator,  "do  you  hold  the  pope  to  be  Anti- 
christ?" "Truly,  I  never  heard  anything  about  it," 
said  Candide,  "but  whether  he  is  or  not,  I  am  in 
want  of  something  to  eat."  "Thou  deservest  not  to 
eat  or  to  drink,"  replied  the  orator,  "wretch,  mon- 
ster, that  thou  art !  hence !  avoid  my  sight,  nor  ever 
come  near  me  again  while  thou  livest."  The  orator's 
wife  happened  to  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  at 
that  instant,  when,  seeing  a  man  who  doubted 
whether  the  pope  was  Antichrist,  she  discharged 
upon  his  head  a  utensil  full  of  water.  Good 
heavens,  to  what  excess  does  religious  zeal  transport 
womankind ! 

A  man  who  had  never  been  christened,  an  honest 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  71 

anabaptist  named  James,  was  witness  to  the  cruel 
and  ignominious  treatment  showed  to  one  of  his 
brethren,  to  a  rational,  two-footed,  unfledged  being. 
Moved  with  pity  he  carried  him  to  his  own  house, 
caused  him  to  be  cleaned,  gave  him  meat  and  drink, 
and  made  him  a  present  of  two  florins,  at  the  same 
time  proposing  to  instruct  him  in  his  own  trade  of 
weaving  Persian  silks,  which  are  fabricated  in  Hol- 
land. Candide,  penetrated  with  so  much  goodness, 
threw  himself  at  his  feet,  crying,  "Now  I  am  con- 
vinced that  my  Master  Pangloss  told  me  truth  when 
he  said  that  everything  was  for  the  best  in  this 
world ;  for  I  am  infinitely  more  affected  with  your 
extraordinary  generosity  than  with  the  inhumanity 
of  that  gentleman  in  the  black  cloak,  and  his  wife." 
The  next  day,  as  Candide  was  walking  out,  he  met 
a  beggar  all  covered  with  scabs,  his  eyes  sunk  in  his 
head,  the  end  of  his  nose  eaten  off,  his  mouth  drawn 
on  one  side,  his  teeth  as  black  as  a  cloak,  snuffling 
and  coughing  most  violently,  and  every  time  he  at- 
tempted to  spit  out  dropped  a  tooth. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW    CANDIDE    FOUND    HIS    OLD    MASTER    PANGLOSS 
AGAIN   AND  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  HIM. 

CANDIDE,  divided  between  compassion  and  hor- 
ror, but  giving  way  to  the  former,  bestowed  on  this 
shocking  figure  the  two  florins  which  the  honest 


72  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

anabaptist,  James,  had  just  before  given  to  him. 
The  spectre  looked  at  him  very  earnestly,  shed  tears 
and  threw  his  arms  about  his  neck.  Candide  started 
back  aghast.  "Alas!"  said  the  one  wretch  to  the 
other,  "don't  you  know  your  dear  Pangloss?" 
"What  do  I  hear?  Is  it  you,  my  dear  master!  you 
I  behold  in  this  piteous  plight  ?  What  dreadful  mis- 
fortune has  befallen  you  ?  Wrhat  has  made  you  leave 
the  most  magnificent  and  delightful  of  all  castles? 
What  has  become  of  Miss  Cunegund,  the  mirror  of 
young  ladies,  and  nature's  masterpiece?"  "Oh 
Lord !"  cried  Pangloss,  "I  am  so  weak  I  cannot 
stand,"  upon  which  Candide  instantly  led  him  to  the 
anabaptist's  stable,  and  procured  him  something  to 
eat.  As  soon  as  Pangloss  had  a  little  refreshed  him- 
self, Candfde  began  to  repeat  his  inquiries  concern- 
ing Miss  Cunegund.  "She  is  dead,"  replied  the 
other.  "Dead!"  cried  Candide,  and  immediately 
fainted  away;  his  friend  restored  him  by  the  help 
of  a  little  bad  vinegar,  which  he  found  by  chance 
in  the  stable.  Candide  opened  his  eyes,  and  again 
repeated:  "Dead!  is  Miss  Cunegund  dead?  Ah, 
where  is  the  best  of  worlds  now?  But  of  what 
illness  did  she  die?  Was  it  of  grief  on  seeing  her 
father  kick  me  out  of  his  magnificent  castle  ?"  "No," 
replied  Pangloss,  "  her  body  was  ripped  open  by 
the  Bulgarian  soldiers,  after  they  had  subjected 
her  to  as  much  cruelty  as  a  damsel  could  survive ; 
they  knocked  the  baron,  her  father,  on  the  head  for 
attempting  to  defend  her ;  my  lady,  her  mother,  was 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  73 

cut  in  pieces ;  my  poor  pupil  was  served  just  in  the 
same  manner  as  his  sister,  and  as  for  the  castle,  they 
have  not  left  one  stone  upon  another;  they  have 
destroyed  all  the  ducks,  and  the  sheep,  the  barns, 
and  the  trees ;  but  we  have  had  our  revenge,  for  the 
Abares  have  done  the  very  same  thing  in  a  neigh- 
boring barony,  which  belonged  to  a  Bulgarian  lord." 

At  hearing  this,  Candide  fainted  away  a  second 
time,  but,  having  come  to  himself  again,  he  said  all 
that  it  became  him  to  say;  he  inquired  into  the 
cause  and  effect,  as  well  as  into  the  sufficing  reason 
that  had  reduced  Pangloss  to  so  miserable  a  condi- 
tion. "Alas,"  replied  the  preceptor,  "it  was  love; 
love,  the  comfort  of  the  human  species;  love,  the 
preserver  of  the  universe ;  the  soul  of  all  sensible 
beings ;  love !  tender  love !"  "Alas,"  cried  Candide, 
"I  have  had  some  knowledge  of  love  myself,  this 
sovereign  of  hearts,  this  soul  of  souls ;  yet  it  never 
cost  me  more  than  a  kiss  and  twenty  kicks  on  the 
backside.  But  how  could  this  beautiful  cause  pro- 
duce in  you  so  hideous  an  effect?" 

Pangloss  made  answer  in  these  terms:  "O  my 
dear  Candide,  you  must  remember  Pacquette,  that 
pretty  wench,  who  waited  on  our  noble  baroness; 
in  her  arms  I  tasted  the  pleasures  of  paradise,  which 
produced  these  hell-torments  with  which  you  see  me 
devoured.  She  was  infected  with  an  ailment,  and 
perhaps  has  since  died  of  it ;  she  received  this  pres- 
ent of  a  learned  cordelier,  who  derived  it  from  the 
fountain  head ;  he  was  indebted  for  it  to  an  old 


74  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

countess,  who  had  it  of  a  captain  of  horse,  who  had 
it  of  a  marchioness,  who  had  it  of  a  page,  the  page 
had  it  of  a  Jesuit,  who,  during  his  novitiate,  had  it 
in  a  direct  line  from  one  of  the  fellow-adventurers 
of  Christopher  Columbus ;  for  my  part  I  shall  give 
it  to  nobody,  I  am  a  dying  man." 

"O  sage  Pangloss,"  cried  Candide,  "what  a 
strange  genealogy  is  this !  Is  not  the  devil  the  root 
of  it?"  "Not  at  all,"  replied  the  great  man,  "it  was 
a  thing  unavoidable,  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the 
best  of  worlds;  for  if  Columbus  had  not  caught  in 
an  island  in  America  this  disease,  which  contami- 
nates the  source  of  generation,  and  frequently  im- 
pedes propagation  itself,  and  is  evidently  opposed  to 
the  great  end  of  nature,  we  should  have  had  neither 
chocolate  nor  cochineal.  It  is  also  to  be  observed, 
that,  even  to  the  present  time,  in  this  continent  of 
ours,  this  malady,  like  our  religious  controversies, 
is  peculiar  to  ourselves.  The  Turks,  the  Indians, 
the  Persians,  the  Chinese,  the  Siamese,  and  the  Japa- 
nese are  entirely  unacquainted  with  it;  but  there 
is  a  sufficing  reason  for  them  to  know  it  in  a  few 
centuries.  In  the  meantime,  it  is  making  prodigious 
havoc  among  us,  especially  in  those  armies  composed 
of  well-disciplined  hirelings,  who  determine  the  fate 
of  nations ;  for  we  may  safely  affirm,  that,  when  an 
army  of  thirty  thousand  men  engages  another  equal 
in  size,  there  are  about  twenty  thousand  infected 
with  syphilis  on  each  side." 

"Very    surprising,  indeed,"  said    Candide,    "but 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  75 

you  must  get  cured.  "Lord  help  me,  how  can  I?" 
said  Pangloss ;  "my  dear  friend,  I  have  not  a  penny 
in  the  world ;  and  you  know  one  cannot  be  bled  or 
have  a  clyster  without  money." 

This  last  speech  had  its  effect  on  Candide;  he 
flew  to  the  charitable  anabaptist,  James ;  he  flung 
himself  at  his  feet,  and  gave  him  so  striking  a  pic- 
ture of  the  miserable  condition  of  his  friend  that  the 
good  man  without  any  further  hesitation  agreed  to 
take  Doctor  Pangloss  into  his  house,  and  to  pay  for 
his  cure.  The  cure  was  effected  with  only  the  loss  of 
one  eye  and  an  ear.  As  he  wrote  a  good  hand,  and 
understood  accounts  tolerably  well,  the  anabaptist 
made  him  his  bookkeeper.  At  the  expiration  of  two 
months,  being  obliged  by  some  mercantile  affairs  to 
go  to  Lisbon  he  took  the  two  philosophers  with  him 
in  the  same  ship ;  Pangloss,  during  the  course  of  the 
voyage,  explained  to  him  how  everything  was  so 
constituted  that  it  could  not  be  better.  James  did 
not  quite  agree  with  him  on  this  point :  "Men," 
said  he  "must,  in  some  things,  have  deviated  from 
their  original  innocence;  for  they  were  not  born 
wolves,  and  yet  they  worry  one  another  like  those 
beasts  of  prey.  God  never  gave  them  twenty-four 
pounders  nor  bayonets,  and  yet  they  have  made  can- 
non and  bayonets  to  destroy  one  another.  To  this 
account  I  might  add  not  only  bankruptcies,  but  the 
law  which  seizes  on  the  effects  of  bankrupts,  only 
to  cheat  the  creditors."  "All  this  was  indispensa- 
bly necessary,"  replied  the  one-eyed  doctor,  "for 


76  Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

private  misfortunes  are  public  benefits ;  so  that  the 
more  private  misfortunes  there  are,  the  greater  is 
the  general  good."  While  he  was  arguing  in  this 
manner,  the  sky  was  overcast,  the  winds  blew  from 
the  four  quarters  of  the  compass,  and  the  ship  was 
assailed  by  a  most  terrible  tempest,  within  sight  of 
the  port  of  Lisbon. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  TEMPEST,  A  SHIPWRECK,  AN  EARTHQUAKE;  AND 
WHAT  ELSE  BEFELL  DR.  PANGLOSS,  CANDIDE,  AND 
JAMES  THE  ANABAPTIST. 

ONE-HALF  of  the  passengers,  weakened  and  half- 
dead  with  the  inconceivable  anxiety  and  sickness 
which  the  rolling  of  a  vessel  at  sea  occasions 
through  the  whole  human  frame,  were  lost  to  all 
sense  of  the  danger  that  surrounded  them.  The 
others  made  loud  outcries,  or  betook  themselves  to 
their  prayers ;  the  sails  were  blown  into  shreds,  and 
the  masts  were  brought  by  the  board.  The  vessel 
was  a  total  wreck.  Every  one  was  busily  employed, 
but  nobody  could  be  either  heard  or  obeyed.  The 
anabaptist,  being  upon  deck,  lent  a  helping  hand  as 
well  as  the  rest,  when  a  brutish  sailor  gave  him  a 
blow  and  laid  him  speechless;  but,  with  the  vio- 
lence of  the  blow  the  tar  himself  tumbled  headfore- 
most overboard,  and  fell  upon  a  piece  of  the  broken 
mast,  which  he  immediately  grasped.  Honest  James, 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  77 

forgetting  the  injury  he  had  so  lately  received  from 
him,  flew  to  his  assistance,  and,  with  great  difficulty, 
hauled  him  in  again,  but,  in  the  attempt,  was,  by  a 
sudden  jerk  of  the  ship,  thrown  overboard  himself, 
in  sight  of  the  very  fellow  whom  he  had  risked  his 
life  to  save,  and  who  took  not  the  least  notice  of  him 
in  this  distress.  Candide,  who  beheld  all  that  passed 
and  saw  his  benefactor  one  moment  rising  above 
water,  and  the  next  swallowed  up  by  the  merciless 
waves,  was  preparing  to  jump  after  him,  but  was 
prevented  by  the  philosopher  Pangloss,  who  demon- 
strated to  him  that  the  roadstead  of  Lisbon  had  been 
made  on  purpose  for  the  anabaptist  to  be  drowned 
there.  While  he  was  proving  his  argument  a  priori, 
the  ship  foundered,  and  the  whole  crew  perished, 
except  Pangloss,  Candide,  and  the  sailor  who  had 
been  the  means  of  drowning  the  good  anabaptist. 
The  villain  swam  ashore;  but  Pangloss  and  Can- 
dide reached  the  land  upon  a  plank. 

As  soon  as  they  had  recovered  from  their  sur- 
prise and  fatigue  they  walked  towards  Lisbon ;  with 
what  little  money  they  had  left  they  thought  to  save 
themselves  from  starving  after  having  escaped 
drowning. 

Scarcely  had  they  ceased  to  lament  the  loss  of 
their  benefactor  and  set  foot  in  the  city,  when  they 
perceived  that  the  earth  trembled  under  their  feet, 
and  the  sea,  swelling  and  foaming  in  the  harbor, 
was  dashing  in  pieces  the  vessels  that  were  riding  at 
anchor.  Large  sheets  of  flames  and  cinders  covered 


y 8  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  streets  and  public  places;  the  houses  tottered, 
and  were  tumbled  topsy-turvy  even  to  their  founda- 
tions, which  were  themselves  destroyed,  and  thirty 
thousand  inhabitants  of  both  sexes,  young  and  old, 
were  buried  beneath  the  ruins.  The  sailor,  whis- 
tling and  swearing,  cried,  "Damn  it,  there's  some- 
thing to  be  got  here."  "What  can  be  the  sufficing 
reason  of  this  phenomenon?"  said  Pangloss.  "It 
is  certainly  the  day  of  judgment,"  said  Candide. 
The  sailor,  defying  death  in  the  pursuit  of  plunder, 
rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  ruin,  where*  he  found 
some  money,  with  which  he  got  drunk,  and,  after  he 
had  slept  himself  sober  he  purchased  the  favors  of 
the  first  good-natured  wench  that  came  in  his  way, 
amidst  the  ruins  of  demolished  houses  and  the 
groans  of  half-buried  and  expiring  persons.  Pan- 
gloss  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve;  "Friend,"  said  he, 
"this  is  not  right,  you  trespass  against  the  universal 
reason,  and  have  mistaken  your  time."  "Death  and 
zounds !"  answered  the  other,  "I  am  a  sailor  and  was 
born  at  Batavia,  and  have  trampled*  four  times  upon 
the  crucifix  in  as  many  voyages  to  Japan ;  you  have 
come  to  a  good  hand  with  your  universal  reason." 

In  the  meantime,  Candide,  who  had  been 
wounded  by  some  pieces  of  stone  that  fell  from  the 
houses,  lay  stretched  in  the  street,  almost  covered 
with  rubbish.  "For  God's  sake,"  said  he  to  Pan- 
gloss,  "get  me  a  little  wine  and  oil!  I  am  dying." 

*The  Dutch  traders  to  Japan  are  actually  obliged  to 
trample  upon  a  crucifix,  in  token  of  their  aversion  to  the 
Christian  religion,  which  the  Japanese  abhor. 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  79 

"This  concussion  of  the  earth  is  no  new  thing,"  said 
Pangloss,  "the  city  of  Lima  in  South  America,  ex- 
perienced the  same  last  year;  the  same  cause,  the 
same  effects;  there  is  certainly  a  train  of  sulphur 
all  the  way  underground  from  Lima  to  Lisbon. 
"Nothing  is  more  probable,"  said  Candide;  "but  for 
the  love  of  God  a  little  oil  and  wine."  "Probable!" 
replied  the  philosopher,  "I  maintain  that  the  thing  is 
demonstrable."  Candide  fainted  away,  and  Pangloss 
fetched  him  some  water  from  a  neighboring  spring. 

The  next  day,  in  searching  among  the  ruins,  they 
found  some  eatables  with  which  they  repaired  their 
exhausted  strength.  After  this  they  assisted  the  in- 
habitants in  relieving  the  distressed  and  wounded. 
Some,  whom  they  had  humanely  assisted,  gave  them 
as  good  a  dinner  as  could  be  expected  under  such 
terrible  circumstances.  The  repast,  indeed,  was 
mournful,  and  the  company  moistened  their  bread 
with  their  tears;  but  Pangloss  endeavored  to  com- 
fort them  under  this  affliction  by  affirming  that 
things  could  not  be  otherwise  than  they  were: 
"For,"  said  he,  "all  this  is  for  the  very  best  end,  for 
if  there  is  a  volcano  at  Lisbon  it  could  be  in  no  other 
spot;  and  it  is  impossible  but  things  should  be  as 
they  are,  for  everything  is  for  the  best." 

By  the  side  of  the  preceptor  sat  a  little  man 
dressed  in  black,  who  was  one  of  the  familiars  of 
the  Inquisition.  This  person,  taking  him  up  with 
great  complaisance,  said,  "Possibly,  my  good  sir, 
you  do  not  believe  in  original  sin  ;  for,  if  everything 


8o  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

is  best,  there  could  have  been  no  such  thing  as  the 
fall  or  punishment  of  man." 

"I  humbly  ask  your  excellency's  pardon,"  an- 
swered Pangloss,  still  more  politely ;  "for  the  fall  of 
man  and  the  curse  consequent  thereupon  necessarily 
entered  into  the  system  of  the  best  of  worlds."  "That 
is  as  much  as  to  say,  sir,"  rejoined  the  familiar,  "you 
do  not  believe  in  free  will."  "Your  excellency  will 
be  so  good  as  to  excuse  me,"  said  Pangloss,  "free 
will  is  consistent  with  absolute  necessity ;  for  it  was 
necessary  we  should  be  free,  for  in  that  the  will — " 

Pangloss  was  in  the  midst  of  his  proposition, 
when  the  inquisitor  beckoned  to  his  attendant  to  help 
him  to  a  glass  of  port  wrine. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW  THE  PORTUGUESE  MADE  A  SUPERB  AUTO-DA-FE 
TO  PREVENT  ANY  FUTURE  EARTHQUAKES,  AND 
HOW  CANDIDE  UNDERWENT  PUBLIC  FLAGELLrA- 
TION. 

AFTER  the  earthquake,  which  had  destroyed 
three-fourths  of  the  city  of  Lisbon,  the  sages  of  that 
country  could  think  of  no  means  more  effectual  to 
preserve  the  kingdom  from  utter  ruin  than  to  enter- 
tain the  people  with  an  auto-da-fe,*it  having  been 

*An  auto-da-ft  was  actually  to  have  been  celebrated  the 
very  day  on  which  the  earthquake  destroyed  Lisbon.  Every- 
body knows  than  an  auto-da-fe'  is  a  general  jail  delivery 
from  the  prisons  of  the  Inquisition,  when  the  wretches  con- 
demned by  that  tribunal  are  brought  to  the  stake,  or  other- 
wise stigmatized  in  public. 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  8 1 

decided  by  the  University  of  Coimbra,  that  the 
burning  of  a  few  people  alive  by  a  slow  fire,  and 
with  great  ceremony,  is  an  infallible  preventive  of 
earthquakes. 

In  consequence  thereof  they  had  seized  on  a  Bis- 
cayan  for  marrying  his  godmother,  and  on  two 
Portuguese  for  taking  out  the  bacon  of  a  larded 
pullet  they  were  eating ;  after  dinner  they  came  and 
secured  Doctor  Pangloss,  and  his  pupil  Candide, 
the  one  for  speaking  his  mind,  and  the  other  for 
seeming  to  approve  what  he  had  said.  They  were 
conducted  to  separate  apartments,  extremely  cool, 
where  they  were  never  incommoded  with  the  sun. 
Eight  days  afterwards  they  were  each  dressed  in  a 
sanbenito,  and  their  heads  were  adorned  with  paper 
mitres.  The  mitre  and  sanbenito  worn  by  Candide 
were  painted  with  flames  reversed  and  with  devils 
that  had  neither  tails  nor  claws ;  but  Doctor  Pan- 
gloss's  devils  had  both  tails  and  claws,  and  his  flames 
were  upright.  In  these  habits  they  marched  in  pro- 
cession, and  heard  a  very  pathetic  sermon,  which 
was  followed  by  an  anthem,  accompanied  by  bag- 
pipes. Candide  was  flogged  to  some  tune,  while 
the  anthem  was  being  sung;  the  Biscayan  and  the 
two  men  who  would  not  eat  bacon  were  burned,  and 
Pangloss  was  hanged,  which  is  not  a  common  cus- 
tom at  these  solemnities.  The  same  day  there  was 
another  earthquake,  which  made  most  dreadful 
havoc. 

Candide,   amazed,   terrified,   confounded,   aston- 
Vol. 


82  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

ished,  all  bloody,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot, 
said  to  himself,  "If  this  is  the  best  of  all  possible 
worlds,  what  are  the  others?  If  I  had  only  been 
whipped,  I  could  have  put  up  with  it,  as  I  did  among 
the  Bulgarians ;  but,  oh  my  dear  Pangloss !  my  be- 
loved master!  thou  greatest  of  philosophers!  that 
ever  I  should  live  to  see  thee  hanged,  without  know- 
ing for  what!  O  my  dear  anabaptist,  thou  best  of 
men,  that  it  should  be  thy  fate  to  be  drowned  in  the 
very  harbor!  O  Miss  Cunegund,  you  mirror  of 
young  ladies!  that  it  should  be  your  fate  to  have 
your  body  ripped  open ! " 

He  was  making  the  best  of  his  way  from  the 
place  where  he  had  been  preached  to,  whipped,  ab- 
solved and  blessed,  when  he  was  accosted  by  an  old 
woman,  who  said  to  him  :  "Take  courage,  child,  and 
follow  me." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HOW  THE  OLD  WOMAN  TOOK  CARE  OF  CANDIDE,  AND 
HOW    HE   FOUND  THE  OBJECT  OF   HIS   LOVE. 

CANDIDE  followed  the  old  woman,  though  with- 
out taking  courage,  to  a  decayed  house,  where  she 
gave  him  a  pot  of  pomatum  to  anoint  his  sores, 
showed  him  a  very  neat  bed,  with  a  suit  of  clothes 
hanging  by  it;  and  set  victuals  and  drink  before 
him.  "There,"  said  she,  "eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  and 
may  our  blessed  lady  of  Atocha,  and  the  great  St. 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  83 

Anthony  of  Padua,  and  the  illustrious  St.  James  of 
Compostella,  take  you  under  their  protection.  I 
shall  be  back  to-morrow."  Candide  struck  with 
amazement  at  what  he  had  seen,  at  what  he  had  suf- 
fered, and  still  more  with  the  charity  of  the  old 
woman,  would  have  shown  his  acknowledgment  by 
kissing  her  hand.  "It  is  not  my  hand  you  ought  to 
kiss,"  said  the  old  woman ;  "I  shall  be  back  to-mor- 
row. Anoint  your  back,  eat,  and  take  your  rest." 

Candide,  notwithstanding  so  many  disasters,  ate 
and  slept.  The  next  morning,  the  old  woman 
brought  him  his  breakfast ;  examined  his  back,  and 
rubbed  it  herself  with  another  ointment.  She  re- 
turned at  the  proper  time,  and  brought  him  his  din- 
ner; and  at  night,  she  visited  him  again  with  his 
supper.  The  next  day  she  observed  the  same  cere- 
monies. "Who  are  you?"  said  Candide  to  her. 
"Who  has  inspired  you  with  so  much  goodness? 
What  return  can  I  make  you  for  this  charitable  as- 
sistance?" The  good  old  beldame  kept  a  profound 
silence.  In  the  evening  she  returned,  but  without 
his  supper;  "Come  along  with  me,"  said  she,  "but 
do  not  speak  a  word."  She  took  him  by  the  arm, 
and  walked  with  him  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  into 
the  country,  till  they  came  to  a  lonely  house  sur- 
rounded with  moats  and  gardens.  The  old  conduct- 
ress knocked  at  a  little  door,  which  was  immediately 
opened,  and  she  showed  him  up  a  pair  of  back  stairs, 
into  a  small,  but  richly  furnished  apartment.  There 
she  made  him  sit  down  on  a  brocaded  sofa,  shut  the 


84  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

door  upon  him,  and  left  him.  Candide  thought  him- 
self in  a  trance ;  he  looked  upon  his  whole  life,  hith- 
erto, as  a  frightful  dream,  and  the  present  moment 
as  a  very  agreeable  one. 

The  old  woman  soon  returned,  supporting,  with 
great  difficulty,  a  young  lady,  who  appeared  scarce 
able  to  stand.  She  was  of  a  majestic  mien  and 
stature,  her  dress  was  rich,  and  glittering  with  dia- 
monds, and  her  face  was  covered  with  a  veil.  "Take 
off  that  veil,"  said  the  old  woman  to  Candide.  The 
young  man  approached,  and,  with  a  trembling  hand, 
took  off  her  veil.  What  a  happy  moment!  "What 
surprise!  He  thought  he  beheld  Miss  Cunegund; 
he  did  behold  her — it  was  she  herself.  His  strength 
failed  him,  he  could  not  utter  a  word,  he  fell  at  her 
feet.  Cunegund  fainted  upon  the  sofa.  The  old 
woman  bedewed  them  with  spirits ;  they  recovered 
— they  began  to  speak.  At  first  they  could  express 
themselves  only  in  broken  accents;  their  questions 
and  answers  were  alternately  interrupted  with  sighs, 
tears,  and  exclamations.  The  old  woman  desired 
them  to  make  less  noise,  and  after  this  prudent  ad- 
monition left  them  together.  "Good  hea.vens  V  cried 
Candide,  "is  it  you  ?  Is  it  Miss  Cunegund  I  be-hold, 
and  alive?  Do  I  find  you  again  in  Portugal?  then 
you  have  not  been  ravished?  they  did  not  rip  open 
your  body,  as  the  philosopher  Pangloss  informed 
me?"  "Indeed  but  they  did,"  replied  Miss  Cune- 
gund ;  "but  these  two  accidents  do  not  always  prove 
mortal."  "But  were  your  father  and  mother  killed  ?" 


YOUNG   MAN  APPROACHED,  AMD 
TREM  BLINO   HAND  TOOK 
OFF"   HER  VEIL- 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  85 

"Alas !"  answered  she,  "it  is  but  too  true !"  and  she 
wept.  "And  your  brother?"  "And  my  brother  also." 
"And  how  came  you  into  Portugal?  And  how  did 
you  know  of  my  being  here?  And  by  what  strange 
adventure  did  you  contrive  to  have  me  brought  into 

this  house?    And  how '    "I  will  tell  you  all," 

replied  the  lady,  "but  first  you  must  acquaint  me 
with  all  that  has  befallen  you  since  the  innocent  kiss 
you  gave  me,  and  the  rude  kicking  you  received  in 
consequence  of  it." 

Candide,  with  the  greatest  submission,  prepared 
to  obey  the  commands  of  his  fair  mistress ;  and 
though  he  was  still  filled  with  amazement,  though 
his  voice  was  low  and  tremulous,  though  his  back 
pained  him,  yet  he  gave  her  a  most  ingenuous  ac- 
count of  everything  that  had  befallen  him,  since  the 
moment  of  their  separation.  Cunegund,  with  her 
eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  shed  tears  when  he  related 
the  death  of  the  good  anabaptist  James,  and  of  Pan- 
gloss  ;  after  which  she  thus  related  her  adventures 
to  Candide,  who  lost  not  one  syllable  she  uttered, 
and  seemed  to  devour  her  with  his  eyes  all  the  time 
she  was  speaking. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
CUNEGUND'S  STORY. 

"I  WAS  in  bed,  and  fast  asleep,  when  it  pleased 
heaven  to  send  the  Bulgarians  to  our  delightful 
castle  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh,  where  they  mur- 


86  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

dered  my  father  and  brother,  and  cut  my  mother  in 
pieces.  A  tall  Bulgarian  soldier,  six  feet  high,  per- 
ceiving that  I  had  fainted  away  at  this  sight,  at- 
tempted to  ravish  me ;  the  operation  brought  me  to 
my  senses.  I  cried,  I  struggled,  I  bit,  I  scratched,  I 
\vould  have  torn  the  tall  Bulgarian's  eyes  out,  not 
knowing  that  what  had  happened  at  my  father's 
castle  was  a  customary  thing.  The  brutal  soldier, 
enraged  at  my  resistance,  gave  me  a  wound  in  my 
left  leg  with  his  hanger,  the  mark  of  which  I  still 
carry."  "Methinks  I  long  to  see  it,"  said  Candide, 
with  all  imaginable  simplicity.  "You  shall,"  said 
Cunegund,  "but  let  me  proceed."  "Pray  do,"  re- 
plied Candide. 

She  continued.  "A  Bulgarian  captain  came  in, 
and  saw  me  weltering  in  my  blood,  and  the  soldier 
still  as  busy  as  if  no  one  had  been  present.  The 
officer,  enraged  at  the  fellow's  want  of  respect  to 
him,  killed  him  with  one  stroke  of  his  sabre  as  he 
lay  upon  me.  This  captain  took  care  of  me,  had  me 
cured,  and  carried  me  as  a  prisoner  of  war  to  his 
quarters.  I  washed  what  little  linen  he  possessed, 
and  cooked  his  victuals:  he  was  very  fond  of  me, 
that  was  certain ;  neither  can  I  deny  that  he  was 
well  made,  and  had  a  soft,  white  skin,  but  he  was 
very  stupid,  and  knew  nothing  of  philosophy:  it 
might  plainly  be  perceived  that  he  had  not  been  edu- 
cated under  Doctor  Pangloss.  In  three  months, 
having  gambled  away  all  his  money,  and  having 
grown  tired  of  me,  he  sold  me  to  a  Jew,  named  Don 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  87 

Issachar,  who  traded  in  Holland  and  Portugal,  and 
was  passionately  fond  of  women.  This  Jew  showed 
me  great  kindness,  in  hopes  of  gaining  my  favors ; 
but  he  never  could  prevail  on  me  to  yield.  A  modest 
woman  may  be  once  ravished;  but  her  virtue  is 
greatly  strengthened  thereby.  In  order  to  make 
sure  of  me,  he  brought  me  to  this  country-house  you 
now  see.  I  had  hitherto  believed  that  nothing  could 
equal  the  beauty  of  the  castle  of  Thunder-ten- 
tronckh ;  but  I  found  I  was  mistaken. 

"The  grand  inquisitor  saw  me  one  day  at  mass, 
ogled  me  all  the  time  of  service,  and  when  it  was 
over,  sent  to  let  me  know  he  wanted  to  speak  with 
me  about  some  private  business.  I  was  conducted 
to  his  palace,  where  I  told  him  all  my  story;  he 
represented  to  me  how  much  it  was  beneath  a  person 
of  my  birth  to  belong  to  a  circumcised  Israelite.  He 
caused  a  proposal  to  be  made  to  Don  Issachar,  that 
he  should  resign  me  to  his  lordship.  Don  Issachar, 
being  the  court  banker,  and  a  man  of  credit,  was  not 
easy  to  be  prevailed  upon.  His  lordship  threatened 
him  with  an  auto-da-fc;  in  short,  my  Jew  was  fright- 
ened into  a  compromise,  and  it  was  agreed  between 
them,  that  the  house  and  myself  should  belong  to 
both  in  common ;  that  the  Jew  should  have  Monday, 
Wednesday,  and  the  Sabbath  to  himself;  and  the 
inquisitor  the  other  four  days  of  the  week.  This 
agreement  has  subsisted  almost  six  months;  but 
not  without  several  contests,  whether  the  space  from 
Saturday  night  to  Sunday  morning  belonged  to  the 


88  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

old  or  the  new  law.  For  my  part,  I  have  hitherto 
withstood  them  both,  and  truly  I  believe  this  is  the 
very  reason  why  they  are  both  so  fond  of  me. 

"At  length  to  turn  aside  the  scourge  of  earth- 
quakes, and  to  intimidate  Don  Issachar,  my  lord  in- 
quisitor was  pleased  to  celebrate  an  auto-da-fe.  He 
did  me  the  honor  to  invite  me  to  the  ceremony.  I 
had  a  very  good  seat ;  and  refreshments  of  all  kinds 
were  offered  the  ladies  between  mass  and  the  execu- 
tion. I  was  dreadfully  shocked  at  the  burning  of 
the  two  Jews,  and  the  honest  Biscayan  who  married 
his  godmother;  but  how  great  was  my  surprise, 
my  consternation,  and  concern,  when  I  beheld  a 
figure  so  like  Pangloss,  dressed  in  a  sanbenito  and 
mitre!  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  I  looked  at  him  atten- 
tively. I  saw  him  hanged,  and  I  fainted  away: 
scarce  had  I  recovered  my  senses,  when  I  saw  you 
stripped  of  clothing ;  this  was  the  height  of  horror, 
grief,  and  despair.  I  must  confess  to  you  for  a 
truth,  that  your  skin  is  whiter  and  more  blooming 
than  that  of  the  Bulgarian  captain.  This  spectacle 
worked  me  up  to  a  pitch  of  distraction.  I  screamed 
out,  and  would  have  said,  'hold,  barbarians !'  but  my 
voice  failed  me;  and  indeed  my  cries  would  have 
signified  nothing.  After  you  had  been  severely 
whipped,  how  is  it  possible,  I  said  to  myself,  that 
the  lovely  Candide  and  the  sage  Pangloss  should  be 
at  Lisbon,  the  one  to  receive  a  hundred  lashes,  and 
the  other  to  be  hanged  by  order  of  my  lord  inquisi- 
tor, of  whom  I  am  so  great  a  favorite?  Pangloss 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  89 

deceived  me  most  cruelly,  in  saying  that  everything 
is  for  the  best. 

"Thus  agitated  and  perplexed,  now  distracted 
and  lost,  now  half  dead  with  grief,  I  revolved  in 
my  mind  the  murder  of  my  father,  mother,  and 
brother,  committed  before  my  eyes ;  the  insolence 
of  the  rascally  Bulgarian  soldier;  the  wound  he 
gave  me  in  the  groin;  my  servitude;  my  being  a 
cook- wench  to  my  Bulgarian  captain ;  my  subjection 
to  the  hateful  Jew,  and  my  cruel  inquisitor;  the 
hanging  of  Doctor  Pangloss ;  the  Miserere  sung 
while  you  were  being  whipped ;  and  particularly  the 
kiss  I  gave  you  behind  the  screen,  the  last  day  I 
ever  beheld  you.  I  returned  thanks  to  God  for  hav- 
ing brought  you  to  the  place  where  I  was,  after  so 
many  trials.  I  charged  the  old  woman  who  attends 
me  to  bring  you  hither  as  soon  as  was  convenient. 
She  has  punctually  executed  my  orders,  and  I  now 
enjoy  the  inexpressible  satisfaction  of  seeing  you, 
hearing  you,  and  speaking  to  you.  But  you  must 
certainly  be  half-dead  with  hunger;  I  myself  have 
a  great  inclination  to  eat,  and  so  let  us  sit  down  to 
supper." 

Upon  this  the  two  lovers  immediately  placed 
themselves  at  table,  and,  after  having  supped,  they 
returned  to  seat  themselves  again  on  the  magnificent 
sofa  already  mentioned,  where  they  were  in  amorous 
dalliance,  when  Senor  Don  Issachar,  one  of  the 
masters  of  the  house,  entered  unexpectedly ;  it  was 
the  Sabbath  day,  and  he  came  to  enjoy  his  privilege, 


90  Candide  ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

and  sigh  forth  his  passion  at  the  feet  of  the  fair 
Cunegund. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHAT     HAPPENED     TO     CUNEGUND,     CANDIDE,     THE 
GRAND  INQUISITOR,  AND  THE  JEW. 

THIS  same  Issachar  was  the  most  choleric  little 
Hebrew  that  had  ever  been  in  Israel  since  the  cap- 
tivity of  Babylon.  "What,"  said  he,  "thou  Galilean 
slut?  the  inquisitor  was  not  enough  for  thee,  but 
this  rascal  must  come  in  for  a  share  wfth  me  ?"  In 
uttering  these  words,  he  drew  out  a  long  poniard, 
which  he  always  carried  about  him,  and  never 
dreaming  that  his  adversary  had  any  arms,  he  at- 
tacked him  most  furiously ;  but  our  honest  West- 
phalian  had  received  from  the  old  woman  a  hand- 
some sword  with  the  suit  of  clothes.  Candide  drew 
his  rapier,  and  though  he  was  very  gentle  and  sweet- 
tempered,  he  laid  the  Israelite  dead  on  the  floor  at 
the  fair  Cunegund's  feet. 

"Holy  Virgin !"  cried  she,  "what  will  become  of 
us?  A  man  killed  in  my  apartment!  If  the  peace- 
officers  come,  we  are  undone."  "Had  not  Pangloss 
been  hanged,"  replied  Candide,  "he  would  have 
given  us  most  excellent  advice,  in  this  emergency; 
for  he  was  a  profound  philosopher.  But,  since  he  is 
not  here,  let  us  consult  the  old  woman."  She  was 
very  sensible,  and  was  beginning  to  give  her  advice, 
when  another  door  opened  on  a  sudden.  It  was 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  91 

now  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  of  course  the 
beginning  of  Sunday,  which,  by  agreement,  fell  to 
the  lot  of  my  lord  inquisitor.  Entering  he  dis- 
covers the  flagellated  Candide  with  his  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand,  a  dead  body  stretched  on  the 
floor,  Cunegund  frightened  out  of  her  wits,  and  the 
old  woman  giving  advice. 

At  that  very  moment,  a  sudden  thought  came 
into  Candide's  head.  If  this  holy  man,  thought  he, 
should  call  assistance,  I  shall  most  undoubtedly  be 
consigned  to  the  flames,  and  Miss  Cunegund  may 
perhaps  meet  with  no  better  treatment :  besides,  he 
was  the  cause  of  my  being  so  cruelly  whipped;  he 
is  my  rival ;  and  as  I  have  now  begun  to  dip  my 
hands  in  blood,  I  will  kill  away,  for  there  is  no  time 
to  hesitate.  This  whole  train  of  reasoning  was  clear 
and  instantaneous ;  so  that,  without  giving  time  to 
the  inquisitor  to  recover  from  his  surprise,  he  ran 
him  through  the  body,  and  laid  him  by  the  side  of 
the  Jew.  "Here's  another  fine  piece  of  work !"  cried 
Cunegund.  "Now  there  can  be  no  mercy  for  us,  we 
are  excommunicated ;  our  last  hour  is  come.  But 
how  could  you,  who  are  of  so  mild  a  temper,  des- 
patch a  Jew  and  an  inquisitor  in  two  minutes' 
time?"  "Beautiful  maiden,"  answered  Candide, 
"when  a  man  is  in  love,  is  jealous,  and  has  been 
flogged  by  the  Inquisition,  he  becomes  lost  to  all 
reflection." 

The  old  woman  then  put  in  her  word :  "There 
are  three  Andalusian  horses  in  the  stable,  with  as 


92  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

many  bridles  and  saddles ;  let  the  brave  Candide  get 
them  ready:  madam  has  a  parcel  of  moidores  and 
jewels,  let  us  mount  immediately,  though  I  have 
lost  one  of  nature's  cushions ;  let  us  set  out  for 
Cadiz;  it  is  the  finest  weather  in  the  world,  and 
there  is  great  pleasure  in  travelling  in  the  cool  of  the 
night." 

Candide,  without  any  further  hesitation,  saddled 
the  three  horses;  and  Miss  Cunegund,  the  old 
woman,  and  he,  set  out,  and  travelled  thirty  miles 
without  once  halting.  While  they  were  making  the 
best  of  their  way,  the  Holy  Brotherhood  entered  the 
house.  My  lord,  the  inquisitor,  was  interred  in  a 
magnificent  manner,  and  master  Issachar's  body  was 
thrown  upon  a  dunghill. 

Candide,  Cunegund,  and  the  old  woman,  had  by 
this  time  reached  the  little  town  of  Avacena,  in  the 
midst  of  the  mountains  of  Sierra  Morena,  and  were 
engaged  in  the  following  conversation  in  an  inn, 
where  they  had  taken  up  their  quarters. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  WHAT  DISTRESS  CANDIDE,  CUNEGUND,  AND  THE 
OLD  WOMAN  ARRIVE  AT  CADIZ,'  AND  OF  THEIR 
EMBARKATION. 

"WHO  could  it  be  that  has  robbed  me  of  my 
moidores  and  jewels?"  exclaimed  Miss  Cunegund, 
all  bathed  in  tears.  "How  shall  we  live?  What 


Candidc;  or,  The  Optimist.  93 

shall  we  do?  Where  shall  I  find  inquisitors  and 
Jews  who  can  give  me  more?"  "Alas!"  said  the 
old  woman,  "I  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  a  rev- 
erend father  cordelier,  who  lay  last  night  in  the 
same  inn  with  us  at  Badajoz;  God  forbid  I  should 
condemn  any  one  wrongfully,  but  he  came  into  our 
room  twice,  and  he  set  off  in  the  morning  long  be- 
fore us."  "Alas!"  said  Candide,  "Pangloss  has 
often  demonstrated  to  me  that  the  goods  of  this 
world  are  common  to  «11  men,  and  that  everyone  has 
an  equal  right  to  the  enjoyment  of  them ;  but,  ac- 
cording to  these  principles,  the  cordelier  ought  to 
have  left  us  enough  to  carry  us  to  the  end  of  OUT 
journey.  Have  you  nothing  at  all  left,  my  dear 
Miss  Cunegund?"  "Not  a  maravedi,"  replied  she. 
"What  is  to  be  done  then?"  said  Candide.  "Sell  one 
of  the  horses,"  replied  the  old  woman,  "I  will  get  up 
behind  Miss  Cunegund,  though  I  have  only  one 
cushion  to  ride  on,  and  we  shall  reach  Cadiz." 

In  the  same  inn  there  was  a  Benedictine  friar, 
who  bought  the  horse  very  cheap.  Candide,  Cune- 
gund, and  the  old  woman,  after  passing  through 
Lucina,  Chellas,  and  Letrixa,  arrived  at  length  at 
Cadiz.  A  fleet  was  then  getting  ready,  and  troops 
were  assembling  in  order  to  induce  the  reverend 
fathers,  Jesuits  of  Paraguay,  who  were  accused  of 
having  excited  one  of  the  Indian  tribes  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  town  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  to 
revolt  against  the  kings  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  Can- 
dide, having  been  in  the  Bulgarian  service,  per- 


94  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

formed  the  military  exercise  of  that  nation  before 
the  general  of  this  little  army  with  so  intrepid  an 
air,  and  with  such  agility  and  expedition,  that  he  re- 
ceived the  command  of  a  company  of  foot.  Being 
now  made  a  captain,  he  embarked  with  Miss  Cune- 
gund,  the  old  woman,  two  valets,  and  the  two  An- 
dalusian  horses,  which  had  belonged  to  the  grand 
inquisitor  of  Portugal. 

During  their  voyage  they  amused  themselves 
with  many  profound  reasonings  on  poor  Pangloss's 
philosophy.  "We  are  now  going  into  another  world, 
and  surely  it  must  be  there  that  everything  is  for 
the  best ;  for  I  must  confess  that  we  have  had  some 
little  reason  to  complain  of  what  passes  in  ours,  both 
as  to  the  physical  and  moral  part.  Though  I  have  a 
sincere  love  for  you,"  said  Miss  Cunegund,  "yet  I 
still  shudder  at  the  reflection  of  what  I  have  seen  and 
experienced."  "All  will  be  well,"  replied  Candide, 
"the  sea  of  this  new  world  is  already  better  than  our 
European  seas :  it  is  smoother,  and  the  winds  blow 
more  regularly."  "God  grant  it,"  said  Cunegund, 
"but  I  have  met  with  such  terrible  treatment  in  this 
world  that  I  have  almost  lost  all  hopes  of  a  better 
one."  "What  murmuring  and  complaining  is  here 
indeed!"  cried  the  old  woman:  "If  you  had  suf- 
fered half  what  I  have,  there  might  be  some  reason 
for  it."  Miss  Cunegund  could  scarce  refrain  from 
laughing  at  the  good  old  woman,  and  thought  it 
droll  enough  to  pretend  to  a  greater  share  of  mis- 
fortunes than  her  own.  "Alas!  my  good  dame," 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  95 

said  she,  "unless  you  had  been  ravished  by  two  Bul- 
garians, had  received  two  deep  wounds  in  your 
belly,  had  seen  two  of  your  own  castles  demolished, 
had  lost  two  fathers,  and  two  mothers,  and  seen  both 
of  them  barbarously  murdered  before  your  eyes,  and 
to  sum  up  all,  had  two  lovers  whipped  at  an  auto- 
da-fe,  I  cannot  see  how  you  could  be  more  unfortu- 
nate than  I.  Add  to  this,  though  born  a  baroness, 
and  bearing  seventy-two  quarterings,  I  have  been 
reduced  to  the  station  of  a  cook-wench."  "Miss," 
replied  the  old  woman,  "you  do  not  know  my  family 
as  yet ;  but  if  I  were  to  show  you  my  posteriors,  you 
would  not  talk  in  this  manner,  but  suspend  your 
judgment."  This  speech  raised  a  high  curiosity  in 
Candide  and  Cunegund ;  and  the  old  woman  con- 
tinued as  follows: 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  OLD  WOMAN. 

"I  HAVE  not  always  been  blear-eyed.  My  nose 
did  not  always  touch  my  chin ;  nor  was  I  always  a 
servant.  You  must  know  that  I  am  the  daughter 
of  Pope  Urban  X.*,  and  of  the  princess  of  Pales- 
trina.  To  the  age  of  fourteen  I  was  brought  up  in  a 
castle,  compared  with  which  all  the  castles  of  the 
German  barons  would  not  have  been  fit  for  stabling, 
and  one  of  my  robes  would  have  bought  half  the 

*  There  never  was  a  tenth  pope  of  that  name;  so  that 
this  number  is  mentioned  to  avoid  scandal. 


96  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

province  of  Westphalia.  I  grew  up,  and  improved 
in  beauty,  wit,  and  every  graceful  accomplishment ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  pleasures,  homage,  and  the  high- 
est expectations.  I  already  began  to  inspire  the  men 
with  love.  My  breast  began  to  take  its  right  form, 
and  such  a  breast !  white,  firm,  and  formed  like  that 
of  Venus  of  Medici ;  my  eyebrows  were  as  black  as 
jet,  and  as  for  my  eyes,  they  darted  flames  and 
eclipsed  the  lustre  of  the  stars,  as  I  was  told  by  the 
poets  of  our  part  of  the  world.  My  maids,  when 
they  dressed  and  undressed  me,  used  to  fall  into  an 
ecstasy  in  viewing  me  before  and  behind :  and  all 
the  men  longed  to  be  in  their  places. 

"I  was  contracted  in  marriage  to  a  sovereign 
prince  of  Massa  Carara.  Such  a  prince!  as  hand- 
some as  myself,  sweet-tempered,  agreeable,  witty, 
and  in  love  with  me  over  head  and  ears.  I  loved  him, 
too,  as  our  sex  generally  do  for  the  first  time,  with 
rapture,  transport,  and  idolatry.  The  nuptials  were 
prepared  with  surprising  pomp  and  magnificence; 
the  ceremony  was  attended  with  feasts,  carousals, 
and  burlettas:  all  Italy  composed  sonnets  in  my 
praise,  though  not  one  of  them  was  tolerable.  I  was 
on  the  point  of  reaching  the  summit  of  bliss,  when 
an  old  marchioness,  who  had  been  mistress  to  the 
prince,  my  husband,  invited  him  to  drink  chocolate. 
In  less  than  two  hours  after  he  returned  from  the 
visit,  he  died  of  most  terrible  convulsions.  But  this 
is  a  mere  trifle.  My  mother,  distracted  to  the  high- 
est degree,  and  yet  less  afflicted  than  I,  determined 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  97 

to  absent  herself  for  some  time  from  so  fatal  a  place. 
As  she  had  a  very  fine  estate  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Gaeta,  we  embarked  on  board  a  galley,  which 
was  gilded  like  the  high  altar  of  St.  Peter's,  at 
Rome.  In  our  passage  we  were  boarded  by  a  Sallee 
rover.  Our  men  defended  themselves  like  true 
pope's  soldiers;  they  flung  themselves  upon  their 
knees,  laid  down  their  arms,  and  begged  the  corsair 
to  give  them  absolution  in  articulo  mortis. 

"The  Moors  presently  stripped  us  as  bare  as  ever 
we  were  born.  My  mother,  my  maids  of  honor,  and 
myself,  were  served  all  in  the  same  manner.  It  is 
amazing  how  quick  these  gentry  are  at  undressing 
people.  But  what  surprised  me  most  was,  that  they 
made  a  rude  sort  of  surgical  examination  of  parts 
of  the  body  which  are  sacred  to  the  functions 
of  nature.  I  thought  it  a  very  strange  kind  of 
ceremony;  for  thus  we  are  generally  apt  to  judge 
of  things  when  we  have  not  seen  the  world.  I  after- 
wards learned  that  it  was  to  discover  if  we  had  any 
diamonds  concealed.  This  practice  has  been  estab- 
lished since  time  immemorial  among  those  civilized 
nations  that  scour  the  seas.  I  was  informed  that  the 
religious  knights  of  Malta  never  fail  to  make  this 
search  whenever  any  Moors  of  either  sex  fall  into 
their  hands.  It  is  a  part  of  the  law  of  nations,  from 
which  they  never  deviate. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  how  great  a  hardship  it  was 
for  a  young  princess  and  her  mother  to  be  made 

slaves  and  carried  to  Morocco.    You  may  easily  im- 
Vol. 


98  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

agme  what  we  must  have  suffered  on  board  a  cor- 
sair. My  mother  was  still  extremely  handsome,  our 
maids  of  honor,  and  even  our  common  waiting- 
women,  had  more  charms  than  were  to  be  found  in 
all  Africa.  As  to  myself,  I  was  enchanting;  I  was 
beauty  itself,  and  then  I  had  my  virginity.  But, 
alas !  I  did  not  retain  it  long ;  this  precious  flower, 
which  had  been  reserved  for  the  lovely  prince  of 
Massa  Carara,  was  cropped  by  the  captain  of  the 
Moorish  vessel,  who  was  a  hideous  negro,  and 
thought  he  did  me  infinite  honor.  Indeed,  both  the 
princess  of  Palestrina  and  myself  must  have  had 
very  strong  constitutions  to  undergo  all  the  hard- 
ships and  violences  we  suffered  before  our  arrival 
at  Morocco.  But  I  will  not  detain  you  any  longer 
with  such  common  things;  they  are  hardly  worth 
mentioning. 

"Upon  our  arrival  at  Morocco  we  found  that 
kingdom  deluged  with  blood.  Fifty  sons  of  the  em- 
peror Muley  Ishmael  were  each  at  the  head  of  a 
party.  This  produced  fifty  civil  wars  of  blacks 
against  blacks,  of  tawnies  against  tawnies,  and  of 
mulattoes  against  mulattoes.  In  short,  the  whole 
empire  was  one  continued  scene  of  carnage. 

"No  sooner  were  we  landed  than  a  party  of 
blacks,  of  a  contrary  faction  to  that  of  my  captain, 
came  to  rob  him  of  his  booty.  Next  to  the  money 
and  jewels,  we  were  the  most  valuable  things  he 
had.  I  witnessed  on  this  occasion  such  a  battle  as 
you  never  beheld  in  your  cold  European  climates. 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  99 

The  northern  nations  have  not  that  fermentation  in 
their  blood,  nor  that  raging  lust  for  women  that  is 
so  common  in  Africa.  The  natives  of  Europe  seem 
to  have  their  veins  filled  with  milk  only;  but  fire 
and  vitriol  circulate  in  those  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Mount  Atlas  and  the  neighboring  provinces.  They 
fought  with  the  fury  of  the  lions,  tigers,  and  ser- 
pents of  their  country,  to  decide  who  should  have 
us.  A  Moor  seized  my  mother  by  the  right  arm, 
while  my  captain's  lieutenant  held  her  by  the  left; 
another  Moor  laid  hold  of  her  by  the  right  leg,  and 
one  of  our  corsairs  held  her  by  the  other.  In  this 
manner  almost  all  of  our  women  were  dragged  by 
four  soldiers.  My  captain  kept  me  concealed  be- 
hind him,  and  with  his  drawn  scimitar  cut  down 
everyone  who  opposed  him ;  at  length  I  saw  all  our 
Italian  women  and  my  mother  mangled  and  torn  in 
pieces  by  the  monsters  who  contended  for  them. 
The  captives,  my  companions,  the  Moors  who  took 
us,  the  soldiers,  the  sailors,  the  blacks,  the  whites, 
the  mulattoes,  and  lastly,  my  captain  himself,  were 
all  slain,  and  I  remained  alone  expiring  upon  a  heap 
of  dead  bodies.  Similar  barbarous  scenes  were 
transacted  every  day  over  the  whole  country,  which 
is  of  three  hundred  leagues  in  extent,  and  yet  they 
never  missed  the  five  stated  times  of  prayer  enjoined 
by  their  prophet  Mahomet. 

"I  disengaged  myself  with  great  difficulty  from 
such  a  heap  of  corpses,  and  made  a  shift  to  crawl  to 
a  large  orange-tree  that  stood  on  the  bank  of  a 


ioo  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

neighboring  rivulet,  where  I  fell  down  exhausted 
with  fatigue,  and  overwhelmed  with  horror,  despair, 
and  hunger.  My  senses  being  overpowered,  I  fell 
asleep,  or  rather  seemed  to  be  in  a  trance.  Thus  I 
lay  in  a  state  of  weakness  and  insensibility  between 
life  and  death,  when  I  felt  myself  pressed  by  some- 
thing that  moved  up  and  down  upon  my  body.  This 
brought  me  to  myself.  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  saw 
a  pretty  fair-faced  man,  who  sighed  and  muttered 
these  words  between  his  teeth,  O  che  sciagura 
d'essere  senza  coglioni! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  OLD  WOMAN   CONTINUED. 

"ASTONISHED  and  delighted  to  hear  my  native 
language,  and  no  less  surprised  at  the  young  man's 
words,  I  told  him  that  there  were  far  greater  mis- 
fortunes in  the  world  than  what  he  complained  of. 
And  to  convince  him  of  it,  I  gave  him  a  short  his- 
tory of  the  horrible  disasters  that  had  befallen  me ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  had  finished,  fell  into  a  swoon 
again.  He  carried  me  in  his  arms  to  a  neighboring 
cottage,  where  he  had  me  put  to  bed,  procured  me 
something  to  eat,  waited  on  me  with  the  greatest  at- 
tention, comforted  me,  caressed  me,  told  me  that  he 
had  never  seen  anything  so  perfectly  beautiful  as 
myself,  and  that  he  had  never  so  much  regretted  the 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  101 

loss  of  what  no  one  could  restore  to  him.  '  I  was 
born  at  Naples,'  said  he,  'where  they  make  eunuchs 
of  thousands  of  children  every  year ;  some  die  of  the 
operation ;  some  acquire  voices  far  beyond  the  most 
tuneful  of  your  ladies ;  and  others  are  sent  to  gov- 
ern states  and  empires.  I  underwent  this  operation 
very  successfully,  and  was  one  of  the  singers  in  the 
princess  of  Palestrina's  chapel.'  'How/  cried  I,  'in 
my  mother's  chapel!'  'The  princess  of  Palestrina, 
your  mother!'  cried  he,  bursting  into  a  flood  of 
tears.  'Is  it  possible  you  should  be  the  beautiful 
young  princess  whom  I  had  the  care  of  bringing  up 
till  she  was  six  years  old,  and  who  at  that  tender 
age  promised  to  be  as  fair  as  I  now  behold  you  ?'  'I 
am  the  same,'  I  replied.  'My  mother  lies  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  here  cut  in  pieces  and  buried 
under  a  heap  of  dead  bodies.' 

"I  then  related  to  him  all  that  had  befallen  me, 
and  he  in  return  acquainted  me  with  all  his  adven- 
tures, and  how  he  had  been  sent  to  the  court  of  the 
king  of  Morocco  by  a  Christian  prince  to  conclude 
a  treaty  with  that  monarch ;  in  consequence  of  which 
he  was  to  be  furnished  with  military  stores,  and 
ships  to  enable  him  to  destroy  the  commerce  of 
other  Christian  governments.*  'I  have  executed  my 
commission,*  said  the  eunuch;  'I  am  going  to  take 

"This  is  too  just  a  reproach  upon  those  Christian  powers, 
who,  for  the  thirst  of  lucre,  shamefully  patronize,  and  supply 
the  barbarians  of  Africa  with  the  means  of  gratifying  their 
rapacity,  and  of  exercising  cruelties  which  are  a  disgrace 
to  human  nature. 


IO2          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

ship  at  Ceuta,  and  I'll  take  you  along  with  me  to 
Italy.  Ma  che  sciagura  d'essere  senza  coglioni!' 

"I  thanked  him  with  tears  of  joy,  but,  instead  of 
taking  me  with  him  into  Italy,  he  carried  me  to  Al- 
giers, and  sold  me  to  the  dey  of  that  province.  I 
had  not  been  long  a  slave  when  the  plague,  which 
had  made  the  tour  of  Africa,  Asia,  and  Europe, 
broke  out  at  Algiers  with  redoubled  fury.  You  have 
seen  an  earthquake;  but  tell  me,  Miss,  have  you 
ever  had  the  plague?" 

"Never,"  answered  the  young  baroness. 

"If  you  had  ever  had  it,"  continued  the  old 
woman,  "you  would  own  an  earthquake  was  a  trifle 
to  it.  It  is  very  common  in  Africa ;  I  was  seized  with 
it.  Figure  to  yourself  the  distressed  condition  of 
the  daughter  of  a  pope,  only  fifteen  years  old,  and 
who  in  less  than  three  months  had  felt  the  miseries 
of  poverty  and  slavery ;  had  been  debauched  almost 
every  day;  had  beheld  her  mother  cut  into  four 
quarters;  had  experienced  the  scourges  of  famine 
and  war;  and  was  now  dying  of  the  plague  at  Al- 
giers. I  did  not,  however,  die  of  it ;  but  my 
eunuch,  and  the  dey,  and  almost  the  whole  seraglio 
of  Algiers,  were  swept  off. 

"As  soon  as  the  first  fury  of  this  dreadful  pesti- 
lence was  over,  a  sale  was  made  of  the  dey's  slaves. 
I  was  purchased  by  a  merchant  who  carried  me  to 
Tunis.  This  man  sold  me  to  another  merchant,  who 
sold  me  again  to  another  at  Tripoli ;  from  Tripoli  I 
was  sold  to  Alexandria,  from  Alexandria  to  Smyrna, 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  103 

and  from  Smyrna  to  Constantinople.  After  many 
changes,  I  at  length  became  the  property  of  an  aga 
of  the  janissaries,  who,  soon  after  I  came  into  his 
possession,  was  ordered  away  to  the  defence  of 
Azoff,  then  besieged  by  the  Russians. 

"The  aga,  being  very  fond  of  women,  took  his 
whole  seraglio  with  him,  and  lodged  us  in  a  small 
fort,  with  two  black  eunuchs  and  twenty  soldiers  for 
our  guard.  Our  army  made  a  great  slaughter  among 
the  Russians ;  but  they  soon  returned  us  the  compli- 
ment. Azoff  was  taken  by  storm,  and  the  enemy 
spared  neither  age,  sex,  nor  condition,  but  put  all  to 
the  sword,  and  laid  the  city  in  ashes.  Our  little  fort 
alone  held  out ;  they  resolved  to  reduce  us  by  fam- 
ine. The  twenty  janissaries,  who  were  left  to  de- 
fend it,  had  bound  themselves  by  an  oath  never  to 
surrender  the  place.  Being  reduced  to  the  extremity 
of  famine,  they  found  themselves  obliged  to  kill  our 
two  eunuchs,  and  eat  them  rather  than  violate  their 
oath.  But  this  horrible  repast  soon  failing  them, 
they  next  determined  to  devour  the  women. 

"We  had  a  very  pious  and  humane  man,  who 
gave  them  a  most  excellent  sermon  on  this  occasion, 
exhorting  them  not  to  kill  us  all  at  once;  'Cut  off 
only  one  of  the  steaks  of  each  of  those  ladies,'  said 
he,  'and  you  will  fare  extremely  well;  if  you  are 
under  the  necessity  of  having  recourse  to  the  same 
expedient  again,  you  will  find  the  like  supply  a  few 
days  hence.  Heaven  will  approve  of  so  charitable 
an  action,  and  work  your  deliverance.' 


IO4          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

"By  the  force  of  this  eloquence  he  easily  per- 
suaded them,  and  all  of  us  underwent  the  operation. 
The  man  applied  the  same  balsam  as  they  do  to 
children  after  circumcision.  We  were  all  ready  to 
give  up  the  ghost. 

"The  janissaries  had  scarcely  time  to  finish  the 
repast  with  which  we  had  supplied  them,  when  the 
Russians  attacked  the  place  by  means  of  flat-bot- 
tomed boats,  and  not  a  single  janissary  escaped. 
The  Russians  paid  no  regard  to  the  condition  we 
were  in ;  but  there  are  French  surgeons  in  all  parts 
of  the  world,  and  one  of  them  took  us  under  his 
care,  and  cured  us.  I  shall  never  forget,  while  I  live, 
that  as  soon  as  my  wounds  were  perfectly  healed  he 
made  me  certain  proposals.  In  general,  he  desired 
us  all  to  be  of  a  good  cheer,  assuring  us  that  the  like 
had  happened  in  many  sieges ;  and  that  it  was  per- 
fectly agreeable  to  the  laws  of  war. 

"As  soon  as  my  companions  were  in  a  condition 
to  walk,  they  were  sent  to  Moscow.  As  for  me,  I 
fell  to  the  lot  of  a  boyard,  who  put  me  to  work  in 
his  garden,  and  gave  me  twenty  lashes  a  day.  But 
this  nobleman  having  about  two  years  afterwards 
been  broken  alive  upon  the  wheel,  with  about  thirty 
others,  for  some  court  intrigues,  I  took  advantage  ot 
the  event,  and  made  my  escape.  I  travelled  over  a 
great  part  of  Russia.  I  was  a  long  time  an  innj 
keeper's  servant  at  Riga,  then  at  Rostock,  Wismar, 
Leipsic,  Cassel,  Utrecht,  Leyden,  The  Hague,  and 
Rotterdam:  I  have  grown  old  in  misery  and  dis- 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  105 

grace,  living  with  only  one  buttock,  and  having  in 
perpetual  remembrance  that  I  am  a  pope's  daughter. 
I  have  been  a  hundred  times  upon  the  point  of  kill- 
ing myself,  but  still  I  was  fond  of  life.  This  ridicu- 
lous weakness  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  dangerous 
principles  implanted  in  our  nature.  For  what  can  be 
more  absurd  than  to  persist  in  carrying  a  burden  of 
which  we  wish  to  be  eased?  to  detest,  and  yet  to 
strive  to  preserve  our  existence?  In  a  word,  to 
caress  the  serpent  that  devours  us,  and  hug  him 
close  to  our  bosoms  till  he  has  gnawed  into  our 
hearts? 

"In  the  different  countries  which  it  has  been  my 
fate  to  traverse,  and  at  the  many  inns  where  I  have 
been  a  servant,  I  have  observed  a  prodigious  num- 
ber of  people  who  held  their  existence  in  abhor- 
rence, and  yet  I  never  knew  more  than  twelve  who 
voluntarily  put  an  end  to  their  misery;  namely, 
three  negroes,  four  Englishmen,  as  many  Genevese, 
and  a  German  professor,  named  Robek.  My  last 
place  was  with  the  Jew,  Don  Issachar,  who  placed 
me  near  your  person,  my  fair  lady;  to  whose  for- 
tunes I  have  attached  myself,  and  have  been  more 
concerned  with  your  adventures  than  with  my  own. 
I  should  never  have  even  mentioned  the  latter  to 
you,  had  you  not  a  little  piqued  me  on  the  head  of 
sufferings ;  and  if  it  were  not  customary  to  tell 
stories  on  board  a  ship  in  order  to  pass  away  the 
time.  In  short,  my  dear  Miss,  I  have  a  great  deal 
of  knowledge  and  experience  in  the  world,  therefore 


io6          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

take  my  advice :  divert  yourself,  and  prevail  upon 
each  passenger  to  tell  his  story,  and  if  there  is  one 
of  them  all  that  has  not  cursed  his  existence  many 
times,  and  said  to  himself  over  and  over  again  that 
he  was  the  most  wretched  of  mortals,  I  give  you 
leave  to  throw  me  head-foremost  into  the  sea." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOW    CANDIDE    WAS    OBLIGED    TO    LEAVE    THE    FAIR 
CUNEGUND    AND    THE    OLD    WOMAN. 

THE  fair  Cunegund,  being  thus  made  acquainted 
with  the  history  of  the  old  woman's  life  and  adven- 
tures, paid  her  all  the  respect  and  civility  due  to  a 
person  of  her  rank  and  merit.  She  very  readily  ac- 
ceded to  her  proposal  of  engaging  the  passengers  to 
relate  their  adventures  in  their  turns,  and  was  at 
length,  as  well  as  Candide,  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge that  the  old  woman  was  in  the  right.  "It  is  a 
thousand  pities,"  said  Candide,  "that  the  sage  Pan- 
gloss  should  have  been  hanged  contrary  to  the  cus- 
tom of  an  auto-da-fe,  for  he  would  have  given  us  a 
most  admirable  lecture  on  the  moral  and  physical 
evil  which  overspreads  the  earth  and  sea;  and  I 
think  I  should  have  courage  enough  to  presume  to 
offer  (with  all  due  respect)  some  few  objections." 

While  everyone  was  reciting  his  adventures,  the 
ship  continued  her  way,  and  at  length  arrived  at 
Buenos  Ayres,  where  Cunegund,  Captain  Candide, 
and  the  old  woman,  landed  and  went  to  wait  upon 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist          107 

the  governor  Don  Fernando  d'Ibaraa  y  Figueora  y 
Mascarenes  y  Lampourdos  y  Souza.  This  nobleman 
carried  himself  with  a  haughtiness  suitable  to  a  per- 
son who  bore  so  many  names.  He  spoke  with  the 
most  noble  disdain  to  everyone,  carried  his  nose  so 
high,  strained  his  voice  to  such  a  pitch,  assumed  so 
imperious  an  air,  and  stalked  with  so  much  lofti- 
ness and  pride,  that  everyone  who  had  the  honor  of 
conversing  with  him  was  violently  tempted  to  basti- 
nade  his  excellency.  He  was  immoderately  fond  of 
women,  and  Miss  Cunegund  appeared  in  his  eyes  a 
paragon  of  beauty.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
ask  her  if  she  was  not  the  captain's  wife.  The  air 
with  which  he  made  this  demand  alarmed  Candide, 
who  did  not  dare  to  say  he  was  married  to  her,  be- 
cause indeed  he  was  not ;  neither  did  he  venture  to 
say  she  was  his  sister,  because  she  was  not:  and 
though  a  lie  of  this  nature  proved  of  great  service 
to  one  of  the  ancients,  and  might  possibly  be  useful 
to  some  of  the  moderns,  yet  the  purity  of  his  heart 
would  not  permit  him  to  violate  the  truth.  "Miss 
Cunegund,"  replied  he,  "is  to  do  me  the  honor  to 
marry  me,  and  we  humbly  beseech  your  excellency 
to  condescend  to  grace  the  ceremony  with  your  pres- 
ence." 

Don  Fernando  d'Ibaraa  y  Figueora  y  Mascarenes 
y  Lampourdos  y  Souza,  twirling  his  mustachio,  and 
putting  on  a  sarcastic  smile,  ordered  Captain  Can- 
dide to  go  and  review  his  company.  The  gentle 
Candide  obeyed,  and  the  governor  was  left  with 


io8          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Miss  Cunegund.  He  made  her  a  strong  declaration 
of  love,  protesting  that  he  was  ready  to  give  her  his 
hand  in  the  face  of  the  church,  or  otherwise,  as 
should  appear  most  agreeable  to  a  young  lady  of 
her  prodigious  beauty.  Cunegund  desired  leave  to 
retire  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  consult  the  old  woman, 
and  determine  how  she  should  proceed. 

The  old  woman  gave  her  the  following  counsel : 
"Miss,  you  have  seventy-two  quarterings  in  your 
arms,  it  is  true,  but  you  have  not  a  penny  to  bless 
yourself  with :  it  is  your  own  fault  if  you  do  not 
become  the  wife  of  one  of  the  greatest  noblemen  in 
South  America,  with  an  exceeding  fine  mustachio. 
What  business  have  you  to  pride  yourself  upon  an 
unshaken  constancy  ?  You  have  been  outraged  by  a 
Bulgarian  soldier;  a  Jew  and  an  inquisitor  have 
both  tasted  of  your  favors.  People  take  advantage 
of  misfortunes.  I  must  confess,  were  I  in  your 
place,  I  should,  without  the  least  scruple,  give  my 
hand  to  the  governor,  and  thereby  make  the  fortune 
of  the  brave  Captain  Candide."  While  the  old 
woman  was  thus  haranguing,  with  all  the  prudence 
that  old  age  and  experience  furnish,  a  small  bark 
entered  the  harbor,  in  which  was  an  alcayde  and  his 
alguazils.  Matters  had  fallen  out  as  follows : 

The  old  woman  rightly  guessed  that  the  cordelier 
with  the  long  sleeves,  was  the  person  who  had  taken 
Miss  Cunegund's  money  and  jewels,  while  they  and 
Candide  were  at  Badajoz,  in  their  flight  from  Lis- 
bon. This  same  friar  attempted  to  sell  some  of  the 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          109 

diamonds  to  a  jeweller,  who  presently  knew  them  to 
have  belonged  to  the  grand  inquisitor,  and  stopped 
them.  The  cordelier,  before  he  was  hanged,  ac- 
knowledged that  he  had  stolen  them,  and  described 
the  persons,  and  the  road  they  had  taken.  The  flight 
of  Cunegund  and  Candide  was  already  the  town- 
talk.  They  sent  in  pursuit  of  them  to  Cadiz;  and 
the  vessel  which  had  been  sent  to  make  the  greater 
despatch,  had  now  reached  the  port  of  Buenos  Ayres. 
A  report  was  spread  that  an  alcayde  was  going  to 
land,  and  that  he  was  in  pursuit  of  the  murderers  of 
my  lord,  the  inquisitor.  The  sage  old  woman  im- 
mediately saw  what  was  to  be  done.  "You  cannot 
run  away,"  said  she  to  Cunegund,  "but  you  have 
nothing  to  fear ;  it  was  not  you  who  killed  my  lord 
inquisitor:  besides,  as  the  governor  is  in  love  with 
you,  he  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  ill-treated ;  there- 
fore stand  your  ground."  Then  hurrying  away  to 
Candide,  she  said:  "Be  gone  hence  this  instant,  or 
you  will  be  burned  alive."  Candide  found  there  was 
no  time  to  be  lost ;  but  how  could  he  part  from  Cune- 
gund, and  whither  must  he  fly  for  shelter? 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   RECEPTION   CANDIDE  AND   CACAMBO   MET   WITH 
AMONG  THE  JESUITS  IN  PARAGUAY. 

CANDIDE  had  brought  with  him  from  Cadiz  such 
a  footman  as  one  often  meets  with  on  the  coasts  of 
Spain  and  in  the  colonies.  He  was  the  fourth  part  of 


no          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

a  Spaniard,  of  a  mongrel  breed,  and  born  in  Tucu- 
man.  He  had  successively  gone  through  the  profes- 
sion of  a  singing  boy,  sexton,  sailor,  monk,  peddler, 
soldier,  and  lackey.  His  name  was  Cacambo ;  he  had 
a  great  affection  for  his  master,  because  his  master 
was  a  very  good  man.  He  immediately  saddled  the 
two  Andalusian  horses.  "Come,  my  good  master, 
let  us  follow  the  old  woman's  advice,  and  make  all 
the  haste  we  can  from  this  place  without  staying  to 
look  behind  us."  Candide  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears :  "O,  my  dear  Cunegund,  must  I  then  be  com- 
pelled to  quit  you  just  as  the  governor  was  going  to 
honor  us  with  his  presence  at  our  wedding !  Cune- 
gund, so  long  lost  and  found  again,  what  will  now 
become  of  you?"  "Lord!"  said  Cacambo,  "she  must 
do  as  well  as  she  can;  women  are  never  at  a  loss. 
God  takes  care  of  them,  and  so  let  us  make  the  best 
of  our  way."  "But  whither  wilt  thou  carry  me? 
where  can  we  go?  what  can  we  do  without  Cune- 
gund?" cried  the  disconsolate  Candide.  "By  St. 
James  of  Compostella,"  said  Cacambo,  "you  were 
going  to  fight  against  the  Jesuits  of  Paraguay ;  now 
let  us  go  and  fight  for  them ;  I  know  the  road  per- 
fectly well;  I'll  conduct  you  to  their  kingdom;  they 
will  be  delighted  with  a  captain  that  understands  the 
Bulgarian  drill ;  you  will  certainly  make  a  prodig- 
ious fortune.  If  we  cannot  succeed  in  this  world 
we  may  in  another.  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  see 
new  objects  and  perform  new  exploits." 

"Then  you  have  been  in  Paraguay?"  asked  Can- 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.          1 1 1 

dide.  "Ay,  marry,  I  have,"  replied  Cacambo;  "I  was 
a  scout  in  the  college  of  the  Assumption,  and  am 
as  well  acquainted  with  the  new  government  of  Los 
Padres  as  I  am  with  the  streets  of  Cadiz.  Oh,  it  is 
an  admirable  government,  that  is  most  certain !  The 
kingdom  is  at  present  upwards  of  three  hundred 
leagues  in  diameter,  and  divided  into  thirty  pro- 
vinces ;  the  fathers  there  are  masters  of  everything, 
and  the  people  have  no  money  at  all ;  this  you  must 
allow  is  the  masterpiece  of  justice  and  reason.  For 
my  part,  I  see  nothing  so  divine  as  the  good  fathers, 
who  wage  war  in  this  part  of  the  world  against  the 
troops  of  Spain  and  Portugal,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  hear  the  confessions  of  those  very  princes  in 
Europe ;  who  kill  Spaniards  in  America  and  send 
them  to  heaven  at  Madrid.  This  pleases  me  ex- 
ceedingly, but  let  us  push  forward ;  you  are  going 
to  see  the  happiest  and  most  fortunate  of  all  mor- 
tals. How  charmed  will  those  fathers  be  to  hear 
that  a  captain  who  understands  the  Bulgarian  mili- 
tary drill  is  coming  among  them." 

As  soon  as  they  reached  the  first  barrier,  Ca- 
cambo called  to  the  advance  guard,  and  told  them 
that  a  captain  wanted  to  speak  to  my  lord,  the  gen- 
eral. Notice  was  given  to  the  main  guard,  and  im- 
mediately a  Paraguayan  officer  ran  to  throw  himself 
at  the  feet  of  the  commandant  to  impart  this  news 
to  him.  Candide  and  Cacambo  were  immediately 
disarmed,  and  their  two  Andalusian  horses  were 
seized.  The  two  strangers  were  conducted  between 


H2          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

two  files  of  musketeers,  the  commandant  was  at 
the  further  end  with  a  three-cornered  cap  on  his 
head,  his  gown  tucked  up,  a  sword  by  his  side,  and 
a  half-pike  in  his  hand;  he  made  a  sign,  and  in- 
stantly four-and-twenty  soldiers  drew  up  round  the 
newcomers.  A  sergeant  told  them  that  they  must 
wait,  the  commandant  could  not  speak  to  them; 
and  that  the  reverend  father  provincial  did  not 
suffer  any  Spaniard  to  open  his  mouth  but  in  his 
presence,  or  to  stay  above  three  hours  in  the  prov- 
ince. "And  where  is  the  reverend  father  provincial  ?" 
said  Cacambo.  "He  has  just  come  from  mass  and 
is  at  the  parade,"  replied  the  sergeant,  "and  in  about 
three  hours'  time  you  may  possibly  have  the  honor 
to  kiss  his  spurs."  "But,"  said  Cacambo,  "the  cap- 
tain, who,  as  well  as  myself,  is  perishing  of  hunger, 
is  no  Spaniard,  but  a  German;  therefore,  pray, 
might  we  not  be  permitted  to  break  our  fast  till  we 
can  be  introduced  to  his  reverence?" 

The  sergeant  immediately  went  and  acquainted 
the  commandant  with  what  he  heard.  "God  be 
praised,"  said  the  reverend  commandant,  "since  he 
is  a  German  I  will  hear  what  he  has  to  say ;  let  him 
be  brought  to  my  arbor." 

Immediately  they  conducted  Candide  to  a  beau- 
tiful pavilion  adorned  with  a  colonade  of  green 
marble,  spotted  with  yellow,  and  with  an  intertex- 
ture  of  vines,  which  served  as  a  kind  of  cage  for  par- 
rots, humming-birds,  guinea-hens,  and  all  other 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  113 

cttrious  kinds  of  birds.  An  excellent  breakfast  was 
provided  in  vessels  of  gold ;  and  while  the  Para- 
guayans were  eating  coarse  Indian  corn  out  of 
wooden  dishes  in  the  open  air,  and  exposed  to  the 
burning  heat  of  the  sun,  the  reverend  father  com- 
mandant retired  to  his  cool  arbor. 

He  was  a  very  handsome  young  man,  round- 
faced,  fair,  and  fresh-colored,  his  eyebrows  were 
finely  arched,  he  had  a  piercing  eye,  the  tips  of  his 
ears  were  red,  his  lips  vermilion,  and  he  had  a  bold 
and  commanding  air ;  but  such  a  boldness  as  neither 
resembled  that  of  a  Spaniard  nor  of  a  Jesuit.  He 
ordered  Candide  and  Cacambo  to  have  their  arms 
restored  to  them,  together  with  their  two  Andalu- 
sian  horses.  Cacambo  gave  the  poor  beasts  some 
oats  to  eat  close  by  the  arbor,  keeping  a  strict  eye 
upon  them  all  the  while  for  fear  of  surprise. 

Candide  having  kissed  the  hem  of  the  com- 
mandant's robe,  they  sat  down  to  table.  "It  seems 
you  are  a  German,"  said  the  Jesuit  to  him  in  that 
language.  "Yes,  reverend  father,"  answered  Can- 
dide. As  they  pronounced  these  words  they  looked 
at  each  other  with  great  amazement  and  with  an 
emotion  that  neither  could  conceal. 

"From  what  part  of  Germany  do  you  come?" 
said  the  Jesuit. 

"From  the  dirty  province  of  Westphalia,"  an- 
swered Candide.  "I  was  born  in  the  castle  of  Thun- 

der-ten-tronckh . " 
Vol.  i—8 


H4  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

"Oh  heavens!  is  it  possible?"  said  the  com- 
mandant. 

"What  a  miracle!"  cried  Candide. 

"Can  it  be  you?"  said  the  commandant. 

On  this  they  both  drew  a  few  steps  backwards, 
then  running  into  each  other's  arms,  embraced,  and 
wept  profusely.  "Is  it  you  then,  reverend  father? 
You  are  the  brother  of  the  fair  Miss  Cunegund? 
You  that  was  slain  by  the  Bulgarians!  You  the 
baron's  son !  You  a  Jesuit  in  Paraguay !  I  must 
confess  this  is  a  strange  world  we  live  in.  O  Pan- 
gloss  !  Pangloss !  what  joy  would  this  have  given 
you  if  you  had  not  been  hanged." 

The  commandant  dismissed  the  negro  slaves,  and 
the  Paraguayans  who  presented  them  with  liquor  in 
crystal  goblets.  He  returned  thanks  to  God  and  St. 
Ignatius  a  thousand  times ;  he  clasped  Candide  in 
his  arms,  and  both  their  faces  were  bathed  in  tears. 
"You  will  be  more  surprised,  more  affected,  more 
transported,"  said  Candide,  "when  I  tell  you  that 
Miss  Cunegund,  your  sister,  whose  belly  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  ripped  open,  is  in  perfect  health." 

"Where?" 

"In  your  neighborhood,  with  the  governor  of 
Buenos  Ayres;  and  I  myself  was  going  to  fight 
against  you."  Ever}'  word  they  uttered  during  this 
long  conversation  was  productive  of  some  new  mat- 
ter of  astonishment.  Their  souls  fluttered  on  their 
tongues,  listened  in  their  ears,  and  sparkled  in  their 
eyes.  Like  true  Germans,  they  continued  a  long 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 1 5 

while  at  table,  waiting  for  the  reverend  father ;  and 
the  commandant  spoke  to  his  dear  Candide  as  fol- 
lows: 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW    CANDIDE    KILLED   THE    BROTHER    OF    HIS   DEAR 
CUNEGUND. 

"NEVER  while  I  live  shall  I  lose  the  remembrance 
of  that  horrible  day  on  which  I  saw  my  father  and 
mother  barbarously  butchered  before  my  eyes,  and 
my  sister  ravished.  When  the  Bulgarians  retired  we 
searched  in  vain  for  my  dear  sister.  She  was  no- 
where to  be  found;  but  the  bodies  of  my  father, 
mother,  and  myself,  with  two  servant  maids  and 
three  little  boys,  all  of  whom  had  been  murdered 
by  the  remorseless  enemy,  were  thrown  into  a  cart 
to  be  buried  in  a  chapel  belonging  to  the  Jesuits, 
within  two  leagues  of  our  family  seat.  A  Jesuit 
sprinkled  us  with  some  holy  water,  which  was 
confounded  salty,  and  a  few  drops  of  it  went  into  my 
eyes;  the  father  perceived  that  my  eyelids  stirred 
a  little ;  he  put  his  hand  upon  my  breast  and  felt  my 
heart  beat ;  upon  which  he  gave  me  proper  assist- 
ance, and  at  the  end  of  three  weeks  I  was  perfectly 
recovered.  You  know,  my  dear  Candide,  I  was  very 
handsome ;  I  became  still  more  so,  and  the  reverend 
father  Croust,  superior  of  that  house,  took  a  great 
fancy  to  me;  he  gave  me  the  habit  of  the  order, 
and  some  years  afterwards  I  was  sent  to  Rome. 


u6          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Our  general  stood  in  need  of  new  recruits  of  young 
German  Jesuits.  The  sovereigns  of  Paraguay  admit 
of  as  few  Spanish  Jesuits  as  possible;  they  prefer 
those  of  other  nations,  as  being  more  obedient  to 
command.  The  reverend  father-general  looked 
upon  me  as  a  proper  person  to  work  in  that  vine- 
yard. I  set  out  in  company  with  a  Polander  and  a 
Tyrolese.  Upon  my  arrival  I  was  honored  with  a 
subdeaconship  and  a  lieutenancy.  Now  I  am  colonel 
and  priest.  We  shall  give  a  warm  reception  to  the 
king  of  Spain's  troops ;  I  can  assure  you  they  will 
be  well  excommunicated  and  beaten.  Providence 
has  sent  you  hither  to  assist  us.  But  is  it  true  that 
my  dear  sister  Cunegund  is  in  the  neighborhood 
with  the  governor  of  Buenos  Ayres?" 

Candide  swore  that  nothing  could  be  more  true ; 
and  the  tears  began  again  to  trickle  down  their 
cheeks.  The  baron  knew  no  end  of  embracing  Can- 
dide, he  called  him  his  brother,  his  deliverer. 

"Perhaps,"  said  he,  "my  dear  Candide,  we  shall 
be  fortunate  enough  to  enter  the  town,  sword  in 
hand,  and  recover  my  sister  Cunegund." 

"Ah!  that  would  crown  my  wishes,"  replied 
Candide ;  "for  I  intended  to  marry  her ;  and  I  hope 
I  shall  still  be  able  to  effect  it." 

"Insolent  fellow !"  cried  the  baron.  "You  !  you 
have  the  impudence  to  marry  my  sister,  who  bears 
seventy-two  quarterings!  really,  I  think  you  have 
an  insufferable  degree  of  assurance  to  dare  so  much 
as  to  mention  such  an  audacious  design  to  me." 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  117 

Candide,  thunderstruck  at  the  oddness  of  this 
speech,  answered :  "Reverend  father,  all  the  quar- 
terings  in  the  world  are  of  no  signification.  I  have 
delivered  your  sister  from  a  Jew  and  an  inquisitor; 
she  is  under  many  obligations  to  me,  and  she  is  re- 
solved to  give  me  her  hand.  My  master,  Pangloss, 
always  told  me  that  mankind  are  by  nature  equal. 
Therefore,  you  may  depend  upon  it  that  I  will  marry 
your  sister." 

"We  shall  see  to  that,  villain!"  said  the  Jesuit 
baron  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh,  and  struck  him 
across  the  face  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword.  Can- 
dide in  an  instant  drew  his  rapier  and  plunged  it 
up  to  the  hilt  in  the  Jesuit's  body;  but  in  pulling 
it  out  reeking  hot,  he  burst  into  tears. 

"Good  God!"  cried  he,  "I  have  killed  my  old 
master,  my  friend,  my  brother-in-law;  I  am  the 
best  man  in  the  world,  and  yet  I  have  already  killed 
three  men ;  and  of  these  three  two  were  priests." 

Cacambo,  who  was  standing  sentry  near  the  door 
of  the  arbor,  instantly  ran  up. 

"Nothing  remains,"  said  his  master,  "but  to  sell 
our  lives  as  dearly  as  possible ;  they  will  undoubt- 
edly look  into  the  arbor;  we  must  die  sword  in 
hand." 

Cacambo,  who  had  seen  many  of  this  kind  of  ad- 
ventures, was  not  discouraged.  He  stripped  the 
baron  of  his  Jesuit's  habit  and  put  it  upon  Candide, 
then  gave  him  the  dead  man's  three-cornered  cap 


1 1 8          Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

and  made  him  mount  on  horseback.    All  this  was 
done  as  quick  as  thought. 

"Gallop,  master,"  cried  Cacambo;  "everybody 
will  take  you  for  a  Jesuit  going  to  give  orders ;  and 
we  shall  have  passed  the  frontiers  before  they  will 
be  able  to  overtake  us."  He  flew  as  he  spoke  these 
words,  crying  out  aloud  in  Spanish,  "Make  way; 
make  way  for  the  reverend  father-colonel." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  OUR  TWO  TRAVELLERS  WITH 
TWO  GIRLS,  TWO  MONKEYS,  AND  THE  SAVAGES, 
CALLED  OREILLONS. 

CANDIDE  and  his  valet  had  already  passed  the 
frontiers  before  it  was  known  that  the  German 
Jesuit  was  dead.  The  wary  Cacambo  had  taken 
care  to  fill  his  wallet  with  bread,  chocolate,  some 
ham,  some  fruit,  and  a  few  bottles  of  wine.  They 
penetrated  with  their  Andalusian  horses  into  a 
strange  country,  where  they  could  discover  no 
beaten  path.  At  length  a  beautiful  meadow,  inter- 
sected with  purling  rills,  opened  to  their  view.  Ca- 
cambo proposed  to  his  master  to  take  some  nourish- 
ment, and  he  set  him  an  example. 

"How  can  you  desire  me  to  feast  upon  ham,  when 
I  have  killed  the  baron's  son  and  am  doomed  never 
more  to  see  the  beautiful  Cunegund?  What  will  it 
avail  me  to  prolong  a  wretched  life  that  must  be 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          119 

spent  far  from  her  in  remorse  and  despair?  And 
then  what  will  the  journal  of  Trevoux  say?"  was 
Candide's  reply. 

While  he  was  making  these  reflections  he  still 
continued  eating.  The  sun  was  now  on  the  point 
of  setting  when  the  ears  of  our  two  wanderers  were 
assailed  with  cries  which  seemed  to  be  uttered  by  a 
female  voice.  They  could  not  tell  whether  these 
were  cries  of  grief  or  of  joy;  however,  they  in- 
stantly started  up,  full  of  that  inquietude  and  appre- 
hension which  a  strange  place  naturally  inspires. 
The  cries  proceeded  from  two  young  women  who 
were  tripping  disrobed  along  the  mead,  while  two 
monkeys  followed  close  at  their  heels  biting  at  their 
limbs.  Candide  was  touched  with  compassion; 
he  had  learned  to  shoot  while  he  was  among  the  Bul- 
garians, and  he  could  hit  a  filbert  in  a  hedge  without 
touching  a  leaf.  Accordingly  he  took  up  his  double- 
barrelled  Spanish  gun,  pulled  the  trigger,  and  laid 
the  two  monkeys  lifeless  on  the  ground. 

"God  be  praised,  my  dear  Cacambo,  I  have  res- 
cued two  poor  girls  from  a  most  perilous  situation ; 
if  I  have  committed  a  sin  in  killing  an  inquisitor  and 
a  Jesuit,  I  have  made  ample  amends  by  saving  the 
lives  of  these  two  distressed  damsels.  Who  knows 
but  they  may  be  young  ladies  of  a  good  family,  and 
that  the  assistance  I  have  been  so  happy  to  give  them 
may  procure  us  great  advantage  in  tfiis  country?" 

He  was  about  to  continue  when  he  felt  himself 
struck  speechless  at  seeing  the  two  girls  embracing 


I2O          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  dead  bodies  of  the  monkeys  in  the  tenderest 
manner,  bathing  their  wounds  with  their  tears,  and 
rending  the  air  with  the  most  doleful  lamentations. 

"Really,"  said  he  to  Cacambo,  "I  should  not  have 
expected  to  see  such  a  prodigious  share  of  good 
nature." 

"Master,"  replied  the  knowing  valet,  "you  have 
made  a  precious  piece  of  work  of  it ;  do  you  know 
that  you  have  killed  the  lovers  of  these  two  ladies  ?" 

"Their  lovers!  Cacambo,  you  are  jesting!  It 
cannot  be !  I  can  never  believe  it." 

"Dear  sir,"  replied  Cacambo,  "you  are  surprised 
at  everything;  why  should  you  think  it  so  strange 
that  there  should  be  a  country  where  monkeys  in- 
sinuate themselves  into  the  good  graces  of  the 
ladies?  They  are  the  fourth  part  of  a  man  as  I  am 
the  fourth  part  of  a  Spaniard." 

"Alas!"  replied  Candide,  "I  remember  to  have 
heard  my  master  Pangloss  say  that  such  accidents 
as  these  frequently  came  to  pass  in  former  times, 
and  that  these  commixtures  are  productive  of  cen- 
taurs, fauns,  and  satyrs;  and  that  many  of  the 
ancients  had  seen  such  monsters ;  but  I  looked  upon 
the  whole  as  fabulous." 

"Now  you  are  convinced,"  said  Cacambo,  "that  it 
is  very  true,  and  you  see  what  use  is  made  of  those 
creatures  by  persons  who  have  not  had  a  proper  edu- 
cation ;  all  I  am  afraid  of  is  that  these  same  ladies 
may  play  us  some  ugly  trick." 

These  judicious  reflections  operated  so  far  on 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          121 

Candida  as  to  make  him  quit  the  meadow  and  strike 
into  a  thicket.  There  he  and  Cacambo  supped,  and 
after  heartily  cursing  the  grand  inquisitor,  the  gov- 
ernor of  Buenos  Ayres,  and  the  baron,  they  fell 
asleep  on  the  ground.  When  they  awoke  they  were 
surprised  to  find  that  they  could  not  move;  the 
reason  was  that  the  Oreillons  who  inhabit  that  coun- 
try, and  to  whom  the  ladies  had  given  information 
of  these  two  strangers,  had  bound  them  with  cords 
made  of  the  bark  of  trees.  They  saw  themselves 
surrounded  by  fifty  naked  Oreillons  armed  with 
bows  and  arrows,  clubs,  and  hatchets  of  flint ;  some 
were  making  a  fire  under  a  large  cauldron;  and 
others  were  preparing  spits,  crying  out  one  and  all, 
"A  Jesuit !  a  Jesuit !  we  shall  be  revenged ;  we  shall 
have  excellent  cheer;  let  us  eat  this  Jesuit;  let  us 
eat  him  up." 

"I  told  you,  master,"  cried  Cacambo,  mournfully, 
"that  these  two  wenches  would  play  us  some  scurvy 
trick." 

Candide,  seeing  the  cauldron  and  the  spits,  cried 
out,  "I  suppose  they  are  going  either  to  boil  or 
roast  us.  Ah !  what  would  Pangloss  say  if  he  were 
to  see  how  pure  nature  is  formed?  Everything  is 
right ;  it  may  be  so ;  but  I  must  confess  it  is  some- 
thing hard  to  be  bereft  of  dear  Miss  Cunegund,  and 
to  be  spitted  like  a  rabbit  by  these  barbarous  Oreil- 
lons." 

Cacambo,  who  never  lost  his  presence  of  mind  in 
distress,  said  to  the  disconsolate  Candide :  "Do  not 


122          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

despair;  I  understand  a  little  of  the  jargon  of  these 
people ;  I  will  speak  to  them." 

"Ay,  pray  do,"  said  Candide,  "and  be  sure  you 
make  them  sensible  of  the  horrid  barbarity  of  boiling 
and  roasting  human  creatures,  and  how  little  of 
Christianity  there  is  in  such  practices." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Cacambo,  "you  think  perhaps 
you  are  going  to  feast  upon  a  Jesuit;  if  so,  it  is 
mighty  well;  nothing  can  be  more  agreeable  to 
justice  than  thus  to  treat  your  enemies.  Indeed  the 
law  of  nature  teaches  us  to  kill  our  neighbor,  and 
accordingly  we  find  this  practised  all  over  the  world ; 
and  if  we  do  not  indulge  ourselves  in  eating  human 
flesh,  it  is  because  we  have  much  better  fare;  but 
for  your  parts,  who  have  not  such  resources  as  we, 
it  is  certainly  much  better  judged  to  feast  upon 
your  enemies  than  to  throw  their  bodies  to  the  fowls 
of  the  air;  and  thus  lose  all  the  fruits  of  your  vic- 
tory. But  surely,  gentlemen,  you  would  not  choose 
to  eat  your  friends.  You  imagine  you  are  going  to 
roast  a  Jesuit,  whereas  my  master  is  your  friend, 
your  defender,  and  you  are  going  to  spit  the  very 
man  who  has  been  destroying  your  enemies;  as  to 
myself,  I  am  your  countryman;  this  gentleman  is 
my  master,  and  so  far  from  being  a  Jesuit,  give  me 
leave  to  tell  you  he  has  very  lately  killed  one  of  that 
order,  whose  spoils  he  now  wears,  and  which  have 
probably  occasioned  your  mistake.  To  convince  you 
of  the  truth  of  what  I  say,  take  the  habit  he  has  on 
and  carry  it  to  the  first  barrier  of  the  Jesuits'  king- 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 23 

dom,  and  inquire  whether  my  master  did  not  kill  one 
of  their  officers.  There  will  be  little  or  no  time  lost 
by  this,  and  you  may  still  reserve  our  bodies  in  your 
power  to  feast  on  if  you  should  find  what  we  have 
told  you  to  be  false.  But,  on  the  contrary,  if  you 
find  it  to  be  true,  I  am  persuaded  you  are  too  well 
acquainted  with  the  principles  of  the  laws  of  society, 
humanity,  and  justice,  not  to  use  us  courteously,  and 
suffer  us  to  depart  unhurt." 

This  speech  appeared  very  reasonable  to  the 
Oreillons ;  they  deputed  two  of  their  people  with  all 
expedition  to  inquire  into  the  truth  of  this  affair, 
who  acquitted  themselves  of  their  commission  like 
men  of  sense,  and  soon  returned  with  good  tidings 
for  our  distressed  adventurers.  Upon  this  they  were 
loosed,  and  those  who  were  so  lately  going  to  roast 
and  boil  them  now  showed  them  all  sorts  of  civili- 
ties; offered  them  girls,  gave  them  refreshments, 
and  reconducted  them  to  the  confines  of  their  coun- 
try, crying  before  them  all  the  way,  in  token  of  joy : 
"He  is  no  Jesuit,  he  is  no  Jesuit." 

Candide  could  not  help  admiring  the  cause  of  his 
deliverance.  "What  men!  what  manners!"  cried 
he;  "if  I  had  not  fortunately  run  my  sword  up  to 
the  hilt  in  the  body  of  Miss  Cunegund's  brother,  I 
should  have  certainly  been  eaten  alive.  But,  after 
all,  pure  nature  is  an  excellent  thing;  since  these 
people,  instead  of  eating  me,  showed  me  a  thousand 
civilities  as  soon  as  they  knew  I  was  not  a  Jesuit." 


1 24          Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 
CHAPTER  XVII. 

CANDIDE  AND  HIS  VALET  ARRIVE  IN  THE  COUNTRY  OF 
EL  DORADO WHAT  THEY  SAW  THERE. 

WHEN  they  got  to  the  frontiers  of  the  Oreillons, 
"You  see,"  said  Cacambo  to  Candide,  "this  hemi- 
sphere is  not  better  than  the  other ;  now  take  my  ad- 
vice and  let  us  return  to  Europe  by  the  shortest  way 
possible." 

"But  how  can  we  get  back?"  said  Candide;  "and 
whither  shall  we  go?  To  my  own  country?.  The 
Bulgarians  and  the  Abares  are  laying  that  waste 
with  fire  and  sword;  or  shall  we  go  to  Portugal? 
There  I  shall  be  burned;  and  if  we  abide  here  we 
are  every  moment  in  danger  of  being  spitted.  But 
how  can  I  bring  myself  to  quit  that  part  of  the  world 
where  my  dear  Miss  Cunegund  has  her  residence?" 

"Let  us  return  towards  Cayenne,"  said  Cacambo ; 
"there  we  shall  meet  with  some  Frenchmen ;  for  you 
know  those  gentry  ramble  all  over  the  world ;  per- 
haps they  will  assist  us,  and  God  will  look  with  pity 
on  our  distress." 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  get  to  Cayenne.  They  knew 
pretty  nearly  whereabouts  it  lay ;  but  the  mountains, 
rivers,  precipices,  robbers,  savages,  were  dreadful 
obstacles  in  the  way.  Their  horses  died  with  fatigue 
and  their  provisions  were  at  an  end.  They  subsisted 
a  whole  month  on  wild  fruit,  till  at  length  they 
came  to  a  little  river  bordered  with  cocoa  trees ;  the 
sight  of  which  at  once  revived  their  drooping  spirits 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  125 

and    furnished    nourishment    for    their    enfeebled 
bodies. 

Cacambo,  who  was  always  giving  as  good  advice 
as  the  old  woman  herself,  said  to  Candide :  "You 
see  there  is  no  holding  out  any  longer;  we  have 
travelled  enough  on  foot.  I  spy  an  empty  canoe 
near  the  river  side;  let  us  fill  it  with  cocoanuts, 
get  into  it,  and  go  down  with  the  stream;  a  river 
always  leads  to  some  inhabited  place.  If  we  do  not 
meet  with  agreeable  things,  we  shall  at  least  meet 
with  something  new." 

"Agreed,"  replied  Candide;  "let  us  recommend 
ourselves  to  Providence." 

They  rowed  a  few  leagues  down  the  river,  the 
banks  of  which  were  in  some  places  covered  with 
flowers ;  in  others  barren ;  in  some  parts  smooth 
and  level,  and  in  others  steep  and  rugged.  The 
stream  widened  as  they  went  further  on,  till  at 
kngth  it  passed  under  one  of  the  frightful  rocks, 
whose  summits  seemed  to  reach  the  clouds.  Here 
our  two  travellers  had  the  courage  to  commit  them- 
selves to  the  stream,  which,  contracting  in  this  part, 
hurried  them  along  with  a  dreadful  noise  and  rapid- 
ity. At  the  end  of  four-and-twenty  hours  they  saw 
daylight  again ;  but  their  canoe  was  dashed  to  pieces 
against  the  rocks.  They  were  obliged  to  creep  along, 
from  rock  to  rock,  for  the  space  of  a  league,  till  at 
length  a  spacious  plain  presented  itself  to  their  sight. 
This  place  was  bounded  by  a  chain  of  inaccessible 
mountains.  The  country  appeared  cultivated  equally 


ia6          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

for  pleasure  and  to  produce  the  necessaries  of  life. 
The  useful  and  agreeable  were  here  equally  blended. 
The  roads  were  covered,  or  rather  adorned,  with 
carriages  formed  of  glittering  materials,  in  which 
were  men  and  women  of  a  surprising  beauty,  drawn 
with  great  rapidity  by  red  sheep  of  a  very  large  size ; 
which  far  surpassed  the  finest  coursers  of  Andalusia, 
Tetuan,  or  Mecquinez. 

"Here  is  a  country,  however,"  said  Candide, 
"preferable  to  Westphalia." 

He  and  Cacambo  landed  near  the  first  village  they 
saw,  at  the  entrance  of  which  they  perceived  some 
children  covered  with  tattered  garments  of  the  rich- 
est brocade,  playing  at  quoits.  Our  two  inhabitants 
of  the  other  hemisphere  amused  themselves  greatly 
with  what  they  saw.  The  quoits  were  large,  round 
pieces,  yellow,  red,  and  green,  wrhich  cast  a  most 
glorious  lustre.  Our  travellers  picked  some  of  them 
up,  and  they  proved  to  be  gold,  emeralds,  rubies,  and 
diamonds;  the  least  of  which  would  have  been  the 
greatest  ornament  to  the  superb  throne  of  the  Great 
Mogul. 

"Without  doubt,"  said  Cacambo,  "those  children 
must  be  the  king's  sons  that  are  playing  at  quoits." 
As  he  was  uttering  these  words  the  schoolmaster  of 
the  village  appeared,  who  came  to  call  the  children 
to  school. 

"There,"  said  Candide,  "is  the  preceptor  of  the 
royal  family." 

The  little  ragamuffins  immediately  quitted  their 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          127 

diversion,  leaving  the  quoits  on  the  ground  with  all 
their  other  playthings.  Candide  gathered  them  up, 
ran  to  the  schoolmaster,  and,  with  a  most  respectful 
bow,  presented  them  to  him,  giving  him  to  under- 
stand by  signs  that  their  royal  highnesses  had  forgot 
their  gold  and  precious  stones.  The  schoolmaster, 
with  a  smile,  flung  them  upon  the  ground,  then  ex- 
amining Candide  from  head  to  foot  with  an  air  of 
admiration,  he  turned  his  back  and  went  on  his  way. 

Our  travellers  took  care,  however,  to  gather  up 
the  gold,  the  rubies,  and  the  emeralds. 

"Where  are  we?"  cried  Candide.  "The  king's 
children  in  this  country  must  have  an  excellent  edu- 
cation, since  they  are  taught  to  show  such  a  con- 
tempt for  gold  and  precious  stones." 

Cacambo  was  as  much  surprised  as  his  master. 
They  then  drew  near  the  first  house  in  the  village, 
which  was  built  after  the  manner  of  a  European 
palace.  There  was  a  crowd  of  people  about  the 
door,  and  a  still  greater  number  in  the  house.  The 
sound  of  the  most  delightful  instruments  of  music 
was  heard,  and  the  most  agreeable  smell  came  from 
the  kitchen.  Cacambo  went  up  to  the  door  and 
heard  those  within  talking  in  the  Peruvian  language, 
which  was  his  mother  tongue ;  for  every  one  knows 
that  Cacambo  was  born  in  a  village  of  Tucuman, 
where  no  other  language  is  spoken. 

"I  will  be  your  interpreter  here,"  said  he  to  Can- 
dide. "Let  us  go  in ;  this  is  an  eating-house." 

Immediately  two  waiters  and  two  servant-girls, 


128  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

dressed  in  cloth  of  gold,  and  their  hair  braided  with 
ribbons  of  tissue,  accosted  the  strangers  and  invited 
them  to  sit  down  to  the  ordinary.  Their  dinner  con- 
sisted of  four  dishes  of  different  soups,  each  gar- 
nished with  two  young  paroquets,  a  large  dish  of 
bouille  that  weighed  two  hundred  weight,  two 
roasted  monkeys  of  a  delicious  flavor,  three  hundred 
humming-birds  in  one  dish,  and  six  hundred  fly- 
birds  in  another;  some  excellent  ragouts,  delicate 
tarts,  and  the  whole  served  up  in  dishes  of  rock- 
crystal.  Several  sorts  of  liquors,  extracted  from 
the  sugar-cane,  were  handed  about  by  the  servants 
who  attended. 

Most  of  the  company  were  chapmen  and  wag- 
oners, all  extremely  polite;  they  asked  Cacambo 
a  few  questions  with  the  utmost  discretion  and  cir- 
cumspection ;  and  replied  to  his  in  a  most  obliging 
and  satisfactory  manner. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  both  Candide  and 
Cacambo  thought  they  should  pay  very  handsomely 
for  their  entertainment  by  laying  down  two  of  those 
large  gold  pieces  which  they  had  picked  off  the 
ground ;  but  the  landlord  and  landlady  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughing  and  held  their  sides  for  some  time. 
When  the  fit  was  over,  "Gentlemen,"  said  the  land- 
lord, "I  plainly  perceive  you  are  strangers,  and  such 
we  are  not  accustomed  to  charge ;  pardon  us,  there- 
fore, for  laughing  when  you  offered  us  the  common 
pebbles  of  our  highways  for  payment  of  your  reck- 
oning. To  be  sure,  you  have  none  of  the  coin  of 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  129 

this  kingdom ;  but  there  is  no  necessity  of  having 
any  money  at  all  to  dine  in  this  house.  All  the  inns, 
which  are  established  for  the  convenience  of  those 
who  carry  on  the  trade  of  this  nation,  are  main- 
tained by  the  government.  You  have  found  but 
very  indifferent  entertainment  here,  because  this  is 
only  a  poor  village;  but  in  almost  every  other  of 
these  public  houses  you  will  meet  with  a  reception 
worthy  of  persons  of  your  merit."  Cacambo  ex- 
plained the  whole  of  this  speech  of  the  landlord  to 
Candide,  who  listened  to  it  with  the  same  astonish- 
ment with  which  his  friend  communicated  it. 

"What  sort  of  a  country  is  this,"  said  the  one  to 
the  other,  "that  is  unknown  to  all  the  world  ;  and  in 
which  Nature  has  everywhere  so  different  an  ap- 
pearance to  what  she  has  in  ours?  Possibly  this  is 
that  part  of  the  globe  where  everything  is  right,  for 
there  must  certainly  be  some  such  place.  And,  for 
all  that  Master  Pangloss  could  say,  I  often  perceived 
that  things  went  very  ill  in  Westphalia." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WHAT  THEY   SAW    IN   THE   COUNTRY  OF   EL   DORADO. 

CACAMBO  vented  all  his  curiosity  upon  his  land- 
lord by  a  thousand  different  questions;  the  honest 
man  answered  him  thus :  "I  am  very  ignorant,  sir, 
but  I  am  contented  with  my  ignorance ;  however,  we 

have  in  this  neighborhood  an  old  man  retired  from 
Vol.  i—9 


130          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

court,  who  is  the  most  learned  and  communicative 
person  in  the  whole  kingdom."  He  then  conducted 
Cacambo  to  the  old  man ;  Candide  acted  now  only 
a  second  character,  and  attended  his  valet.  They 
entered  a  very  plain  house,  for  the  door  was  nothing 
but  silver,  and  the  ceiling  was  only  of  beaten  gold, 
but  wrought  in  such  elegant  taste  as  to  vie  with  the 
richest.  The  antechamber,  indeed,  was  only  in- 
crusted  with  rubies  and  emeralds ;  but  the  order  in 
which  everything  was  disposed  made  amends  for 
this  great  simplicity. 

The  old  man  received  the  strangers  on  his  sofa, 
which  was  stuffed  with  humming-birds'  feathers; 
and  ordered  his  servants  to  present  them  with  liq- 
uors in  golden  goblets,  after  which  he  satisfied  their 
curiosity  in  the  following  terms : 

"I  am  now  one  hundred  and  seventy-two  years 
old,  and  I  learned  of  my  late  father,  who  was 
equerry  to  the  king,  the  amazing  revolutions  of 
Peru,  to  which  he  had  been  an  eye-witness.  This 
kingdom  is  the  ancient  patrimony  of  the  Incas,  who 
very  imprudently  quitted  it  to  conquer  another  part 
of  the  world,  and  were  at  length  conquered  and  de- 
stroyed themselves  by  the  Spaniards. 

"Those  princes  of  their  family  who  remained  in 
their  native  country  acted  more  wisely.  They  or- 
dained, with  the  consent  of  their  whole  nation,  that 
none  of  the  inhabitants  of  our  little  kingdom  should 
ever  quit  it ;  and  to  this  wise  ordinance  we  owe  the 
preservation  of  our  innocence  and  happiness.  The 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  131 

Spaniards  had  some  confused  notion  of  this  coun- 
try, to  which  they  gave  the  name  of  El  Dorado;  and 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  an  Englishman,  actually  came 
very  near  it  about  three  hundred  years  ago ;  but  the 
inaccessible  rocks  and  precipices  with  which  our 
country  is  surrounded  on  all  sides,  has  hitherto  se- 
cured us  from  the  rapacious  fury  of  the  people  of 
Europe,  who  have  an  unaccountable  fondness  for 
the  pebbles  and  dirt  of  our  land,  for  the  sake  of 
which  they  would  murder  us  all  to  the  very  last 
man." 

The  conversation  lasted  some  time  and  turned 
chiefly  on  the  form  of  government,  their  manners, 
their  women,  their  public  diversions,  and  the  arts. 
At  length,  Candide,  who  had  always  had  a  taste  for 
metaphysics,  asked  whether  the  people  of  that  coun- 
try had  any  religion. 

The  old  man  reddened  a  little  at  this  question. 

"Can  you  doubt  it?"  said  he ;  "do  you  take  us  for 
wretches  lost  to  all  sense  of  gratitude  ?" 

Cacambo  asked  in  a  respectful  manner  what  was 
the  established  religion  of  El  Dorado.  The  old  man 
blushed  again,  and  said :  "Can  there  be  two  relig- 
ions, then?  Ours,  I  apprehend,  is  the  religion  of 
the  whole  world ;  we  worship  God  from  morning  till 
night." 

"Do  you  worship  but  one  God  ?"  said  Cacambo, 
who  still  acted  as  the  interpreter  of  Candide's 
doubts.  t 

"Certainly,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "there  arc  not  two, 


132          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

nor  three,  nor  four  Gods.  I  must  confess  the  pcopte 
of  your  world  ask  very  extraordinary  questions." 

However,  Candide  could  not  refrain  from  making 
many  more  inquiries  of  the  old  man ;  he  wanted  to 
know  in  what  manner  they  prayed  to  God  in  E) 
Dorado. 

"We  do  not  pray  to  him  at  all,"  said  the  reverend 
sage;  "we  have  nothing  to  ask  of  Him,  He  has 
given  us  all  we  want,  and  we  give  Him  thanks  inces- 
santly." Candide  had  a  curiosity  to  see  some  of 
their  priests,  and  desired  Cacambo  to  ask  the  old 
man  where  they  were.  At  which  he  smiling  said : 

"My  friends,  we  are  all  of  us  priests;  the  king 
and  all  the  heads  of  families  sing  solemn  hymns  of 
thanksgiving  every  morning,  accompanied  by  five  or 
six  thousand  musicians." 

"What!"  said  Cacambo,  "have  you  no  monk? 
among  you  to  dispute,  to  govern,  to  intrigue,  and  to 
burn  people  who  are  not  of  the  same  opinion  with 
themselves  ?" 

"Do  you  take  us  for  fools?"  said  the  old  man- 
"Here  we  are  all  of  one  opinion,  and  know  not  what 
you  mean  by  your  monks." 

During  the  whole  of  this  discourse  Candide  was 
in  raptures,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "What  a  pro- 
digious difference  is  there  between  this  place  and 
Westphalia;  and  this  house  and  the  baron's  castle. 
Ah,  Master  Pangloss !  had  you  ever  seen  El  Dorado, 
you  would  no  longer  have  maintained  that  the  castle 
of  Thunder-ten-tronckh  was  the  finest  of  all  possible 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          133 

edifices ;  there  is  nothing  like  seeing  the  world,  that's 
certain." 

This  long  conversation  being  ended,  the  old  man 
ordered  six  sheep  to  be  harnessed  and  put  to  the 
coach,*  and  sent  twelve  of  his  servants  to  escort  the 
travellers  to  court. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  he,  "for  not  waiting  on  you  in 
person,  my  age  deprives  me  of  that  honor.  The 
king  will  receive  you  in  such  a  manner  that  you  will 
have  no  reason  to  complain ;  and  doubtless  you  will 
make  a  proper  allowance  for  the  customs  of  the 
country  if  they  should  not  happen  altogether  to 
please  you." 

Candide  and  Cacambo  got  into  the  coach,  the  six 
sheep  flew,  and,  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
they  arrived  at  the  king's  palace,  which  was  situated 
at  the  further  end  of  the  capital.  At  the  entrance 
was  a  portal  two  hundred  and  twenty  feet  high  and 
one  hundred  wide ;  but  it  is  impossible  for  words  to 
express  the  materials  of  which  it  was  built.  The 
reader,  however,  will  readily  conceive  that  they  must 
have  a  prodigious  superiority  over  the  pebbles  and 
sand,  which  we  call  gold  and  precious  stones. 

Twenty  beautiful  young  virgins  in  waiting  re- 
ceived Candide  and  Cacambo  on  their  alighting  from 
the  coach,  conducted  them  to  the  bath  and  clad  them 
in  robes  woven  of  the  down  of  humming-birds  ;  after 
which  they  were  introduced  by  the  great  officers  of 

*  Meaning  Peruvian  sheep,  a  kind  of  beast  of  burden, 
native  of  Peru,  very  different  from  the  sheep  of  Europe. 


134          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  crown  of  both  sexes  to  the  king's  apartment,  be- 
tween two  files  of  musicians,  each  file  consisting  of 
a  thousand,  agreeable  to  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try. When  they  drew  near  to  the  presence-chamber, 
Cacambo  asked  one  of  the  officers  in  what  manner 
they  were  to  pay  their  obeisance  to  his  majesty; 
whether  it  was  the  custom  to  fall  upon  their  knees, 
or  to  prostrate  themselves  upon  the  ground; 
whether  they  were  to  put  their  hands  upon  their 
heads,  or  behind  their  backs ;  whether  they  were  to 
lick  the  dust  off  the  floor ;  in  short,  what  was  the 
ceremony  usual  on  such  occasions. 

"The  custom,"  said  the  great  officer,  "is  to  em- 
brace the  king  and  kiss  him  on  each  cheek." 

Candide  and  Cacambo  accordingly  threw  their 
arms  round  his  majesty's  neck,  who  received  them  in 
the  most  gracious  manner  imaginable,  and  very  po- 
litely asked  them  to  sup  with  him. 

While  supper  was  preparing  orders  were  given 
to  show  them  the  city,  where  they  saw  public 
structures  that  reared  their  lofty  heads  to  the  clouds ; 
the  market-places  decorated  with  a  thousand  col- 
umns ;  fountains  of  spring  water,  besides  others  of 
rose  water,  and  of  liquors  drawn  from  the  sugar- 
cane, incessantly  flowing  in  the  great  squares ;  which 
were  paved  with  a  kind  of  precious  stones  that 
emitted  an  odor  like  that  of  cloves  and  cinnamon. 
Candide  asked  to  see  the  high  court  of  justice,  the 
parliament;  but  was  answered  that  they  had  none 
in  that  country,  being  utter  strangers  to  lawsuits. 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  135 

Hr  then  inquired  if  they  had  any  prisons ;  they  re- 
plied none.  But  what  gave  him  at  once  the  greatest 
surprise  and  pleasure  was  the  palace  of  sciences, 
where  he  saw  a  gallery  two  thousand  feet  long, 
filled  with  the  various  apparatus  in  mathematics 
and  natural  philosophy. 

After  having  spent  the  whole  afternoon  in  seeing 
only  about  the  thousandth  part  of  the  city,  they  were 
brought  back  to  the  king's  palace.  Candide  sat 
down  at  the  table  with  his  majesty,  his  valet  Ca- 
cambo,  and  several  ladies  of  the  court.  Never  was 
entertainment  more  elegant,  nor  could  any  one  pos- 
sibly show  more  wit  than  his  majesty  displayed 
while  they  were  at  supper.  Cacambo  explained  all 
the  king's  bons  mots  to  Candide,  and,  although  they 
were  translated,  they  still  appeared  to  be  bons  mots. 
Of  all  the  things  that  surprised  Candide,  this  was 
not  the  least.  They  spent  a  whole  month  in  this 
hospitable  place,  during  which  time  Candide  was 
continually  saying  to  Cacambo: 

"I  own,  my  friend,  once  more,  that  the  castle 
where  I  was  born  is  a  mere  nothing  in  comparison 
to  the  place  where  we  now  are ;  but  still  Miss  Cune- 
gund  is  not  here,  and  you  yourself  have  doubtless 
some  fair  one  in  Europe  for  whom  you  sigh.  If  we 
remain  here  we  shall  only  be  as  others  are ;  whereas, 
if  we  return  to  our  own  world  with  only  a  dozen  of 
El  Dorado  sheep,  loaded  with  the  pebbles  of  this 
country,  we  shall  be  richer  than  all  the  kings  in 
Europe ;  we  shall  no  longer  need  to  stand  in  awe  of 


136  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  inquisitors;  and  we  may  easily  recover  Miss 
Cunegund." 

This  speech  was  perfectly  agreeable  to  Cacambo. 
A  fondness  for  roving,  for  making  a  figure  in  their 
own  country,  and  for  boasting  of  what  they  had  seen 
in  their  travels,  was  so  powerful  in  our  two  wan- 
derers that  they  resolved  to  be  no  longer  happy ;  and 
demanded  permission  of  the  king  to  quit  the  coun- 
try. 

"You  are  about  to  do  a  rash  and  silly  action,"  said 
the  king.  "I  am  sensible  my  kingdom  is  an  incon- 
siderable spot;  but  when  people  are  tolerably  at 
their  ease  in  any  place,  I  should  think  it  would  be  to 
their  interest  to  remain  there.  Most  assuredly,  I 
have  no  right  to  detain  you,  or  any  strangers,  against 
your  wills;  this  is  an  act  of  tyranny  to  which  our 
manners  and  our  laws  are  equally  repugnant;  all 
men  are  by  nature  free ;  you  have  therefore  an  un- 
doubted liberty  to  depart  whenever  you  please,  but 
you  will  have  many  and  great  difficulties  to  en- 
counter in  passing  the  frontiers.  It  is  impossible 
to  ascend  that  rapid  river  which  runs  under  high  and 
vaulted  rocks,  and  by  which  you  were  conveyed 
hither  by  a  kind  of  miracle.  The  mountains  by 
which  my  kingdom  are  hemmed  in  on  all  sides,  are 
ten  thousand  feet  high,  and  perfectly  perpendicular ; 
they  are  above  ten  leagues  across,  and  the  descent 
from  them  is  one  continued  precipice.  However, 
since  you  are  determined  to  leave  us,  I  will  imme- 
diately give  orders  to  the  superintendent  of  my  car^ 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  137 

riages  to  cause  one  to  be  made  that  will  convey 
you  very  safely.  When  they  have  conducted  you  to 
the  back  of  the  mountains,  nobody  can  attend  you 
farther;  for  my  subjects  have  made  a  vow  never  to 
quit  the  kingdom,  and  they  are  too  prudent  to  break 
it.  Ask  me  whatever  else  you  please." 

"All  we  shall  ask  of  your  majesty,"  said  Cacam- 
bo,  "is  only  a  few  sheep  laden  with  provisions,  peb- 
bles, and  the  clay  of  your  country." 

The  king  smiled  at  the  request,  and  said :  "I  can- 
not imagine  what  pleasure  you  Europeans  find  in 
our  yellow  clay ;  but  take  away  as  much  of  it  as  you 
will,  and  much  good  may  it  do  you." 

He  immediately  gave  orders  to  his  engineers  to 
make  a  machine  to  hoist  these  two  extraordinary 
men  out  of  the  kingdom.  Three  thousand  good  ma- 
chinists went  to  work  and  finished  it  in  about  fifteen 
days,  and  it  did  not  cost  more  than  twenty  millions 
sterling  of  that  country's  money.  Candide  and  Ca- 
cambo  were  placed  on  this  machine,  and  they  took 
with  them  two  large  red  sheep,  bridled  and  saddled, 
to  ride  upon,  when  they  got  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mountains ;  twenty  others  to  serve  as  sumpters  for 
carrying  provisions ;  thirty  laden  with  presents  of 
whatever  was  most  curious  in  the  country,  and  fifty 
with  gold,  diamonds,  and  other  precious  stones.  The 
king,  at  parting  with  our  two  adventurers,  embraced 
them  with  the  greatest  cordiality. 

It  was  a  curious  sight  to  behold  the  manner  of 
their  setting  off,  and  the  ingenious  method  by  which 


138          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

they  and  their  sheep  were  hoisted  to  the  top  of  th*. 
mountains.  The  machinists  and  engineers  took  leave 
of  them  as  soon  as  they  had  conveyed  them  to  a  place 
of  safety,  and  Candide  was  wholly  occupied  with  the 
thoughts  of  presenting  his  sheep  to  Miss  Cunegund. 
"Now,"  cried  he,  "thanks  to  heaven,  we  have 
more  than  sufficient  to  pay  the  governor  of  Buenos 
Ayres  for  Miss  Cunegund,  if  she  is  redeemable. 
Let  us  make  the  best  of  our  way  to  Cayenne,  where 
we  will  take  shipping  and  then  we  may  at  leisure 
think  of  what  kingdom  we  shall  purchase  with  our 
riches. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THEM  AT  SURINAM,  AND  HOW 
CANDIDE    BECAME    ACQUAINTED    WITH    MARTIN. 

OUR  travellers'  first  day's  journey  was  very  pleas- 
ant ;  they  were  elated  with  the  prospect  of  possess- 
ing more  riches  than  were  to  be  found  in  Europe, 
Asia,  and  Africa  together.  Candide,  in  amorous 
transports,  cut  the  name  of  Miss  Cunegund  on  al- 
most every  tree  he  came  to.  The  second  day  two 
of  their  sheep  sunk  in  a  morass,  and  were  swallowed 
up  with  their  lading ;  two  more  died  of  fatigue ; 
some  few  days  afterwards  seven  or  eight  perished 
with  hunger  in  a  desert,  and  others,  at  different 
times,  tumbled  down  precipices,  or  were  otherwise 
lost,  so  that,  after  travelling  about  a  hundred  days 
they  had  only  two  sheep  left  of  the  hundred  and 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  139 

two  they  brought  with  them  from  El  Dorado.  Said 
Candide  to  Cacambo : 

"You  see,  my  dear  friend,  how  perishable  the 
riches  of  this  world  are;  there  is  nothing  solid  but 
virtue." 

"Very  true,"  said  Cacambo,  "but  we  have  still 
two  sheep  remaining,  with  more  treasure  than  ever 
the  king  of  Spain  will  be  possessed  of;  and  I  espy 
a  town  at  a  distance,  which  I  take  to  be  Surinam,  a 
town  belonging  to  the  Dutch.  We  are  now  at  the 
end  of  our  troubles,  and  at  the  beginning  of  happi- 
ness." 

As  they  drew  near  the  town  they  saw  a  negro 
stretched  on  the  ground  with  only  one  half  of  his 
habit,  which  was  a  kind  of  linen  frock ;  for  the  poor 
man  had  lost  his  left  leg  and  his  right  hand. 

"Good  God,"  said  Candide  in  Dutch,  "what  dost 
thou  here,  friend,  in  this  deplorable  condition?" 

"I  am  waiting  for  my  master,  Mynheer  Vander- 
dendur,  the  famous  trader,"  answered  the  negro. 

"Was  it  Mynheer  Vanderdendur  that  used  you  in 
this  cruel  manner?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  negro ;  "it  is  the  custom  here. 
They  give  a  linen  garment  twice  a  year,  and  that  is 
all  our  covering.  When  we  labor  in  the  sugar 
works,  and  the  mill  happens  to  snatch  hold  of  a  fin- 
ger, they  instantly  chop  off  our  hand ;  and  when  we 
attempt  to  run  away,  they  cut  off  a  leg.  Both  these 
cases  have  happened  to  me,  and  it  is  at  this  expense 
that  you  eat  sugar  in  Europe;  and  yet  when  my 


140          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

mother  sold  me  for  ten  patacoons  on  the  coast  of 
Guinea,  she  said  to  me,  'My  dear  child,  bless  our 
fetiches;  adore  them  forever;  they  will  make  thee 
live  happy ;  thou  hast  the  honor  to  be  a  slave  to  our 
lords  the  whites,  by  which  thou  wilt  make  the  for- 
tune of  us  thy  parents.'  Alas !  I  know  not  whether 
I  have  made  their  fortunes ;  but  they  have  not  made 
mine:  dogs,  monkeys,  and  parrots  are  a  thousand 
times  less  wretched  than  I.  The  Dutch  fetiches  who 
converted  me  tell  me  every  Sunday  that  the  blacks 
and  whites  are  all  children  of  one  father,  whom 
they  call  Adam.  As  for  me,  I  do  not  understand 
anything  of  genealogies ;  but  if  what  these  preachers 
say  is  true,  we  are  all  second  cousins ;  and  you  must 
allow  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  worse  treated  by  our 
relations  than  we  are." 

"O  Pangloss!"  cried  out  Candide,  "such  horrid 
doings  never  entered  thy  imagination.  Here  is  an 
end  of  the  matter ;  I  find  myself,  after  all,  obliged 
to  renounce  thy  Optimism." 

"Optimism,"  said  Cacambo,  "what  is  that?" 

"Alas!"  replied  Candide,  "it  is  the  obstinacy  of 
maintaining  that  everything  is  best  when  it  is 
worst."  And  so  saying  he  turned  his  eyes  towards 
the  poor  negro,  and  shed  a  flood  of  tears;  and  in 
this  weeping  mood  he  entered  the  town  of  Surinam. 

Immediately  upon  their  arrival  our  travellers  in- 
quired if  there  was  any  vessel  in  the  harbor  which 
they  might  send  to  Buenos  Ayres.  The  person  they 
addressed  themselves  to  happened  to  be  the  master 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  141 

of  a  Spanish  bark,  who  offered  to  agree  with  them 
on  moderate  terms,  and  appointed  them  a  meeting 
at  a  public  house.  Thither  Candide  and  his  faithful 
Cacambo  went  to  wait  for  him,  taking  with  them 
their  two  sheep. 

Candide,  who  was  all  frankness  and  sincerity, 
made  an  ingenuous  recital  of  his  adventures  to  the 
Spaniard,  declaring  to  him  at  the  same  time  his 
resolution  of  carrying  off  Miss  Cunegund  from  the 
governor  of  Buenos  Ayres. 

"O  ho !"  said  the  shipmaster,  "if  that  is  the  case, 
get  whom  you  please  to  carry  you  to  Buenos  Ayres ; 
for  my  part,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  affair.  It 
would  prove  a  hanging  matter  to  us  all.  The  fair 
Cunegund  is  the  governor's  favorite  mistress." 
These  words  were  like  a  clap  of  thunder  to  Candide ; 
he  wept  bitterly  for  a  long  time,  and,  taking  Cacam- 
bo aside,  he  said  to  him,  "I'll  tell  you,  my  dear 
friend,  what  you  must  do.  We  have  each  of  us  in 
our  pockets  to  the  value  of  five  or  six  millions  in 
diamonds;  you  are  cleverer  at  these  matters  than 
I ;  you  must  go  to  Buenos  Ayres  and  bring  off  Miss 
Cunegund.  If  the  governor  makes  any  difficulty 
give  him  a  million ;  if  he  holds  out,  give  him  two ; 
as  you  have  not  killed  an  inquisitor,  they  will  have 
no  suspicion  of  you.  I'll  fit  out  another  ship  and  go 
to  Venice,  where  I  will  wait  for  you.  Venice  is  a 
free  country,  where  we  shall  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  Bulgarians,  Abares,  Jews,  or  Inquisitors." 

Cacambo  greatly  applauded  this  wise  resolution. 


142  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

He  was  inconsolable  at  the  thoughts  of  parting  with 
so  good  a  master,  who  treated  him  more  like  an  inti- 
mate friend  than  a  servant ;  but  the  pleasure  of  be- 
ing able  to  do  him  a  service  soon  got  the  better  of 
his  sorrow.  They  embraced  each  other  with  a  flood 
of  tears.  Candide  charged  him  not  to  forget  the  old 
woman.  Cacambo  set  out  the  same  day.  This 
Cacambo  was  a  very  honest  fellow. 

Candide  continued  some  days  longer  at  Surinam, 
waiting  for  any  captain  to  carry  him  and  his  two  re- 
maining sheep  to  Italy.  He  hired  domestics,  and 
purchased  many  things  necessary  for  a  long  voyage ; 
at  length  Mynheer  Vanderdendur,  skipper  of  a 
large  Dutch  vessel,  came  and  offered  his  service. 

"What  will  you  have,"  said  Candide,  "to  carry 
me,  my  servants,  my  baggage,  and  these  two  sheep 
you  see  here,  directly  to  Venice?" 

The  skipper  asked  ten  thousand  piastres,  and 
Candide  agreed  to  his  demand  without  hesitation. 

"Ho,  ho!"  said  the  cunning  Vanderdendur  to 
himself,  "this  stranger  must  be  very  rich ;  he  agrees 
to  give  me  ten  thousand  piastres  without  hesi- 
tation." Returning  a  little  while  after  he  tells  Can- 
dide that  upon  second  consideration  he  could  not 
undertake  the  voyage  for  less  than  twenty  thou- 
sand. "Very  well;  you  shall  have  them,"  said 
Candide. 

"Zounds !"  said  the  skipper  to  himself,  "this  man 
agrees  to  pay  twenty  thousand  piastres  with  as  much 
ease  as  ten."  Accordingly  he  goes  back  again,  and 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  143 

tells  him  roundly  that  he  will  not  carry  him  to 
Venice  for  less  than  thirty  thousand  piastres. 

"Then  you  shall  have  thirty  thousand,"  said  Can- 
dide. 

"Odso!"  said  the  Dutchman  once  more  to  him- 
self, "thirty  thousand  piastres  seem  a  trifle  to  this 
man.  Those  sheep  must  certainly  be  laden  with  an 
immense  treasure.  I'll  e'en  stop  here  and  ask  no 
more ;  but  make  him  pay  down  the  thirty  thousand 
piastres,  and  then  we  may  see  what  is  to  be  done 
farther."  Candide  sold  two  small  diamonds,  the 
least  of  which  was  worth  more  than  all  the  skipper 
asked.  He  paid  him  beforehand,  the  two  sheep  were 
put  on  board,  and  Candide  followed  in  a  small  boat 
to  join  the  vessel  in  the  road.  The  skipper  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  opportunity,  hoisted  sail,  and  put  out 
to  sea  with  a  favorable  wind.  Candide,  confounded 
and  amazed,  soon  lost  sight  of  the  ship.  "Alas!" 
said  he,  "this  is  a  trick  like  those  in  our  old  world !" 

He  returned  back  to  the  shore  overwhelmed  with 
grief;  and,  indeed,  he  had  lost  what  would  have 
made  the  fortune  of  twenty  monarchs. 

Straightway  upon  his  landing  he  applied  to  the 
Dutch  magistrate;  being  transported  with  passion 
he  thundered  at  the  door,  which  being  opened,  he 
went  in,  told  his  case,  and  talked  a  little  louder  than 
was  necessary.  The  magistrate  began  with  fining 
him  ten  thousand  piastres  for  his  petulance,  and  then 
listened  very  patiently  to  what  he  had  to  say,  prom- 


144          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

ised  to  examine  into  the  affair  on  the  skipper's  re- 
turn, and  ordered  him  to  pay  ten  thousand  piastres 
more  for  the  fees  of  the  court. 

This  treatment  put  Candide  out  of  all  patience; 
it  is  true,  he  had  suffered  misfortunes  a  thousand 
times  more  grievous,  but  the  cool  insolence  of  the 
judge,  and  the  villainy  of  the  skipper  raised  his 
choler  and  threw  him  into  a  deep  melancholy.  The 
villainy  of  mankind  presented  itself  to  his  mind  in 
all  its  deformity,  and  his  soul  was  a  prey  to  the  most 
gloomy  ideas.  After  some  time,  hearing  that  the 
captain  of  a  French  ship  was  ready  to  set  sail  for 
Bordeaux,  as  he  had  no  more  sheep  loaded  with  dia- 
monds to  put  on  board,  he  hired  the  cabin  at  the 
usual  price ;  and  made  it  known  in  the  town  that  he 
would  pay  the  passage  and  board  of  any  honest  man 
who  would  give  him  his  company  during  the  voy- 
age ;  besides  making  him  a  present  of  ten  thousand 
piastres,  on  condition  that  such  person  was  the  most 
dissatisfied  with  his  condition,  and  the  most  unfor- 
tunate in  the  whole  province. 

Upon  this  there  appeared  such  a  crowd  of  candi- 
dates that  a  large  fleet  could  not  have  contained 
them.  Candide,  willing  to  choose  from  among  those 
who  appeared  most  likely  to  answer  his  intention, 
selected  twenty,  who  seemed  to  him  the  most  so- 
ciable, and  who  all  pretended  to  merit  the  prefer- 
ence. He  invited  them  to  his  inn,  and  promised  to 
treat  them  with  a  supper,  on  condition  that  every 
man  should  bind  himself  by  an  oath  to  relate  his  own 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  145 

history;  declaring  at  the  same  time,  that  he  would 
make  choice  of  that  person  who  should  appear  to 
him  the  most  deserving  of  compassion,  and  the  most 
justly  dissatisfied  with  his  condition  in  life;  and 
that  he  would  make  a  present  to  the  rest. 

This  extraordinary  assembly  continued  sitting  till 
four  in  the  morning.  Candide,  while  he  was  listen- 
ing to  their  adventures,  called  to  mind  what  the  old 
woman  had  said  to  him  in  their  voyage  to  Buenos 
Ayres,  and  the  wager  she  had  laid  that  there  was  not 
a  person  on  board  the  ship  but  had  met  with  great 
misfortunes.  Every  story  he  heard  put  him  in  mind 
of  Pangloss. 

"My  old  master,"  said  he,  "would  be  confound- 
edly put  to  it  to  demonstrate  his  favorite  system. 
Would  he  were  here !  Certainly  if  everything  is  for 
the  best,  it  is  in  El  Dorado,  and  not  in  the  other 
parts  of  the  world." 

At  length  he  determined  in  favor  of  a  poor 
scholar,  who  had  labored  ten  years  for  the  book- 
sellers at  Amsterdam:  being  of  opinion  that  no 
employment  could  be  more  detestable. 

This  scholar,  who  was  in  fact  a  very  honest  man, 
had  been  robbed  by  his  wife,  beaten  by  his  son,  and 
forsaken  by  his  daughter,  who  had  run  away  with  a 
Portuguese.  He  had  been  likewise  deprived  of  a 
small  employment  on  which  he  subsisted,  and  he 
was  persecuted  by  the  clergy  of  Surinam,  who  took 
him  for  a  Socinian.  It  must  be  acknowledged  that 

the  other  competitors  were,  at  least,  as  wretched  as 
Vol.  i— 10 


146  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

he;  but  Candide  was  in  hopes  that  the  company  of 
a  man  of  letters  would  relieve  the  tediousness  of 
the  voyage.  All  the  other  candidates  complained 
that  Candide  had  done  them  great  injustice,  but  he 
stopped  their  mouths  by  a  present  of  a  hundred 
piastres  to  each. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WHAT    BEFELL     CANDIDE    AND     MARTIN     ON     THEIR 
PASSAGE. 

THE  old  philosopher,  whose  name  was  Martin, 
took  shipping  with  Candide  for  Bordeaux.  Both 
had  seen  and  suffered  a  great  deal,  and  had  the  ship 
been  going  from  Surinam  to  Japan  round  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  they  could  have  found  sufficient  en- 
tertainment for  each  other  during  the  whole  voy- 
age, in  discoursing  upon  moral  and  natural  evil. 

Candide,  however,  had  one  advantage  over  Mar- 
tin: he  lived  in  the  pleasing  hopes  of  seeing  Miss 
Cunegund  once  more;  whereas,  the  poor  philoso- 
pher had  nothing  to  hope  for ;  besides,  Candide  had 
money  and  jewels,  and,  notwithstanding  he  had  lost 
a  hundred  red  sheep  laden  with  the  greatest  treas- 
ure outside  of  El  Dorado,  and  though  he  still 
smarted  from  the  reflection  of  the  Dutch  skipper's 
knavery,  yet  when  he  considered  what  he  had  still 
left,  and  repeated  the  name  of  Cunegund,  especially 
after  meal  times,  he  inclined  to  Pangloss'  doctrine. 

"And  pray,"  said  he  to  Martin,  "what  is  your 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          147 

opinion  of  the  whole  of  this  system?  what  notion 
have  you  of  moral  and  natural  evil?" 

"Sir,"  replied  Martin,  "our  priest  accused  me  of 
being  a  Socinian ;  but  the  real  truth  is,  I  am  a  Mani- 
chaean." 

"Nay,  now  you  are  jesting,"  said  Candide ;  "there 
are  no  Manichaeans  existing  at  present  in  the 
world." 

"And  yet  I  am  one,"  said  Martin ;  "but  I  cannot 
help  it.  I  cannot  for  the  soul  of  me  think  other- 
wise." 

"Surely  the  devil  must  be  in  you,"  said  Candide. 

"He  concerns  himself  so  much,"  replied  Martin, 
"in  the  affairs  of  this  world  that  it  is  very  probable 
he  may  be  in  me  as  well  as  everywhere  else;  but 
I  must  confess,  when  I  cast  my  eye  on  this  globe, 
or  rather  globule,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  God 
has  abandoned  it  to  some  malignant  being.  I  al- 
ways except  El  Dorado.  I  scarce  ever  knew  a  city 
that  did  not  wish  the  destruction  of  its  neighboring 
city ;  nor  a  family  that  did  not  desire  to  exterminate 
some  other  family.  The  poor  in  all  parts  of  the 
world  bear  an  inveterate  hatred  to  the  rich,  even 
while  they  creep  and  cringe  to  them;  and  the  rich 
treat  the  poor  like  sheep,  whose  wool  and  flesh  they 
barter  for  money ;  a  million  of  regimented  assassins 
traverse  Europe  from  one  end  to  the  other,  to  get 
their  bread  by  regular  depredation  and  murder,  be- 
cause it  is  the  most  gentlemanlike  profession.  Even 
in  those  cities  which  seem  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of 


148  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

peace,  and  where  the  arts  flourish,  the  inhabitants 
are  devoured  with  envy,  care,  and  inquietudes, 
which  are  greater  plagues  than  any  experienced  in  a 
town  besieged.  Private  chagrins  are  still  more 
dreadful  than  public  calamities.  In  a  word,"  con- 
cluded the  philosopher,  "I  have  seen  and  suffered  so 
much  that  I  am  a  Manichsean." 

"And  yet  there  is  some  good  in  the  world,"  re- 
plied Candide. 

"May  be  so,"  said  Martin,  "but  it  has  escaped  my 
knowledge." 

While  they  were  deeply  engaged  in  this  dispute 
they  heard  the  report  of  cannon,  which  redoubled 
every  moment.  Each  took  out  his  glass,  and  they 
spied  two  ships  warmly  engaged  at  the  distance  of 
about  three  miles.  The  wind  brought  them  both  so 
near  the  French  ship  that  those  on  board  her  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  fight  with  great  ease.  After 
several  smart  broadsides  the  one  gave  the  other  a 
shot  between  wind  and  water  which  sunk  her  out- 
right. Then  could  Candide  and  Martin  plainly  per- 
ceive a  hundred  men  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel  which 
was  sinking,  who,  with  hands  uplifted  to  heaven, 
sent  forth  piercing  cries,  and  were  in  a  moment 
swallowed  up  by  the  waves. 

"Well,"  said  Martin,  "you  now  see  in  what  man- 
ner mankind  treat  one  another." 

"It  is  certain,"  said  Candide,  "that  there  is  some- 
thing diabolical  in  this  affair."  As  he  was  speaking 
thus  he  spied  something  of  a  shining  red  hue,  which 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  149 

swam  close  to  the  vessel.  The  boat  was  hoisted  out 
to  see  what  it  might  be,  when  it  proved  to  be  one  of 
his  sheep.  Candide  felt  more  joy  at  the  recovery  of 
this  one  animal  than  he  did  grief  when  he  lost  the 
other  hundred,  though  laden  with  the  large  dia- 
monds of  El  Dorado. 

The  French  captain  quickly  perceived  that  the 
victorious  ship  belonged  to  the  crown  of  Spain ;  that 
the  other  was  a  Dutch  pirate,  and  the  very  same  cap- 
tain who  had  robbed  Candide.  The  immense  riches 
which  this  villain  had  amassed,  were  buried  with 
him  in  the  deep,  and  only  this  one  sheep  saved  out 
of  the  whole. 

"You  see,"  said  Candide  to  Martin,  "that  vice  is 
sometimes  punished;  this  villain,  the  Dutch  skip- 
per, has  met  with  the  fate  he  deserved." 

"Very  true,"  said  Martin,  "but  why  should  the 
passengers  be  doomed  also  to  destruction  ?  God  has 
punished  the  knave,  and  the  devil  has  drowned  the 
rest." 

The  French  and  Spanish  ships  continued  their 
cruise,  and  Candide  and  Martin  their  conversation. 
They  disputed  fourteen  days  successively,  at  the 
end  of  which  they  were  just  as  far  advanced  as  the 
first  moment  they  began.  However,  they  had  the 
satisfaction  of  disputing,  of  communicating  their 
ideas,  and  of  mutually  comforting  each  other.  Can- 
dide embraced  his  sheep  with  transport. 

"Since  I  have  found  thee  again,"  said  he,  "I  may 
possibly  find  my  Cunegund  once  more." 


1 50  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

CANDIDE  AND  MARTIN,  WHILE  THUS  REASONING 
WITH  EACH  OTHER,  DRAW  NEAR  TO  THE  COAST  OF 
FRANCE. 

AT  LENGTH  they  descried  the  coast  of  France, 
when  Candide  said  to  Martin,  "Pray  Mr.  Martin, 
were  you  ever  in  France  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Martin,  "I  have  been  in  several 
provinces  of  that  kingdom.  In  some,  one-half  of  the 
people  are  fools  and  madmen ;  in  some,  they  are  too 
artful;  in  others,  again,  they  are,  in  general,  either 
very  good-natured  or  very  brutal ;  while  in  others, 
they  affect  to  be  witty,  and  in  all,  their  ruling  pas- 
sion is  love,  the  next  is  slander,  and  the  last  is  to  talk 
nonsense." 

"But,  pray,  Mr.  Martin,  were  you  ever  in  Paris  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have  been  in  that  city,  and  it  is  a 
place  that  contains  the  several  species  just  described ; 
it  is  a  chaos,  a  confused  multitude,  where  everyone 
seeks  for  pleasure  without  being  able  to  find  it ;  at 
least,  as  far  as  I  have  observed  during  my  short  stay 
in  that  city.  At  my  arrival  I  was  robbed  of  all  I 
had  in  the  world  by  pickpockets  and  sharpers,  at  the 
fair  of  St.  Germain.  I  was  taken  up  myself  for  a 
robber,  and  confined  in  prison  a  whole  week ;  after 
which  I  hired  myself  as  corrector  to  a  press,  in  order 
to  get  a  little  money  towards  defraying  my  expenses 
back  to  Holland  on  foot.  I  knew  the  whole  tribe  of 
scribblers,  malcontents,  and  fanatics.  It  is  said  the 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          1 5 1 

people  of  that  city  are  very  polite;    I  believe  they 
may  be." 

"For  my  part,  I  have  no  curiosity  to  see  France," 
said  Candide ;  "you  may  easily  conceive,  my  friend, 
that  after  spending  a  month  in  El  Dorado,  I  can 
desire  to  behold  nothing  upon  earth  but  Miss  Cune- 
gund ;  I  am  going  to  wait  for  her  at  Venice.  I  in- 
tend to  pass  through  France,  on  my  way  to  Italy. 
Will  you  not  bear  me  company?"  "With  all  my 
heart,"  said  Martin ;  "they  say  Venice  is  agreeable  to 
none  but  noble  Venetians;  but  that,  nevertheless, 
strangers  are  well  received  there  when  they  have 
plenty  of  money;  now  I  have  none,  but  you  have, 
therefore  I  will  attend  you  wherever  you  please." 
"Now  we  are  upon  this  subject,"  said  Candide,  "do 
you  think  that  the  earth  was  originally  sea,  as  we 
read  in  that  great  book  which  belongs  to  the  captain 
of  the  ship?"  "I  believe  nothing  of  it,"  replied 
Martin,  "any  more  than  I  do  of  the  many  other  chi- 
meras which  have  been  related  to  us  for  some  time 
past."  "But  then,  to  what  end,"  said  Candide,  "was 
the  world  formed  ?"  "To  make  us  mad,"  said  Mar- 
tin. "Are  you  not  surprised,"  continued  Candide, 
"at  the  love  which  the  two  girls  in  the  country  of  the 
Oreillons  had  for  those  two  monkeys? — You  know 
I  have  told  you  the  story."  "Surprised?"  replied 
Martin,  "not  in  the  least ;  I  see  nothing  strange  in 
this  passion.  I  have  seen  so  many  extraordinary 
things  that  there  is  nothing  extraordinary  to  me 
now."  "Do  you  think,"  said  Candide,  "that  man- 


152  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

kind  always  massacred  one  another  as  they  do  now  ? 
were  they  always  guilty  of  lies,  fraud,  treachery,  in- 
gratitude, inconstancy,  envy,  ambition,  and  cruelty? 
were  they  always  thieves,  fools,  cowards,  gluttons, 
drunkards,  misers,  calumniators,  debauchees,  fanat- 
ics, and  hypocrites?"  "Do  you  believe,"  said  Mar- 
tin, "that  hawks  have  always  been  accustomed  to  eat 
pigeons  when  they  came  in  their  way?"  ''Doubt- 
less," said  Candide.  "Well  then,"  replied  Martin, 
"if  hawks  have  always  had  the  same  nature,  why 
should  you  pretend  that  mankind  change  theirs?" 
"Oh,"  said  Candide,  "there  is  a  great  deal  of  differ- 
ence; for  free  will — "  and  reasoning  thus  they  ar- 
rived at  Bordeaux. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WHAT     HAPPENED     TO     CANDIDE     AND     MARTIN     IN 
FRANCE. 

CANDIDE  staid  no  longer  at  Bordeaux  than  was 
necessary  to  dispose  of  a  few  'of  the  pebbles  he  had 
brought  from  El  Dorado,  and  to  provide  himself 
with  a  post-chaise  for  two  persons,  for  he  could  no 
longer  stir  a  step  without  his  philosopher  Martin. 
The  only  thing  that  gave  him  concern  was  the  being 
obliged  to  leave  his  sheep  behind  him,  which  he  in- 
trusted to  the  care  of  the  academy  of  sciences  at 
Bordeaux,  who  proposed,  as  a  prize  subject  for  the 
year,  to  prove  why  the  wool  of  this  sheep  was  red ; 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 53 

and  the  prize  was  adjudged  to  a  northern  sage,  who 
demonstrated  by  A  plus  B,  minus  C,  divided  by  Z, 
that  the  sheep  must  necessarily  be  red,  and  die  of  the 
mange. 

In  the  meantime,  all  the  travellers  whom  Candide 
met  with  in  the  inns,  or  on  the  road,  told  him  to  a 
man,  that  they  were  going  to  Paris.  This  general 
eagerness  gave  him  likewise  a  great  desire  to  see 
this  capital ;  and  it  was  not  much  out  of  his  way  to 
Venice. 

He  entered  the  city  by  the  suburbs  of  St.  Mar- 
ceau,  and  thought  himself  in  one  of  the  vilest  ham- 
lets in  all  Westphalia. 

Candide  had  not  been  long  at  his  inn,  before  he 
was  seized  with  a  slight  disorder,  owing  to  the  fa- 
tigue he  had  undergone.  As  he  wore  a  diamond  of 
an  enormous  size  on  his  finger  and  had  among  the 
rest  of  his  equipage  a  strong  box  that  seemed  very 
weighty,  he  soon  found  himself  between  two  physi- 
cians, whom  he  had  not  sent  for,  a  number  of  inti- 
mate friends  whom  he  had  never  seen,  and  who 
would  not  quit  his  bedside,  and  two  women  devo- 
tees, who  were  very  careful  in  providing  him  hot 
broths. 

"I  remember,"  said  Martin  to  him,  "that  the  first 
time  I  came  to  Paris  I  was  likewise  taken  ill ;  I  was 
very  poor,  and  accordingly  I  had  neither  friends, 
nurses,  nor  physicians,  and  yet  I  did  very  well." 

However,  by  dint  of  purging  and  bleeding,  Can- 
dide's  disorder  became  very  serious.  The  priest  of 


154  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  parish  came  with  all  imaginable  politeness  to 
desire  a  note  of  him,  payable  to  the  bearer  in  the 
other  world.  Candide  refused  to  comply  with  his 
request;  but  the  two  devotees  assured  him  that  it 
was  a  new  fashion.  Candide  replied,  that  he  was 
not  one  that  followed  the  fashion.  Martin  was  for 
throwing  the  priest  out  of  the  window.  The  clerk 
swore  Candide  should  not  have  Christian  burial. 
Martin  swore  in  his  turn  that  he  would  bury  the 
clerk  alive  if  he  continued  to  plague  them  any 
longer.  The  dispute  grew  warm;  Martin  took  him 
by  the  shoulders  and  turned  him  out  of  the  room, 
which  gave  great  scandal,  and  occasioned  a  proces- 
verbal. 

Candide  recovered,  and  till  he  was  in  a  condition 
to  go  abroad  had  a  great  deal  of  good  company  to 
pass  the  evenings  with  him  in  his  chamber.  They 
played  deep.  Candide  was  surprised  to  find  he  could 
never  turn  a  trick;  and  Martin  was  not  at  all  sur- 
prised at  the  matter. 

Among  those  who  did  him  the  honors  of  the 
place  was  a  little  spruce  abbe  of  Perigord,  one  of 
those  insinuating,  busy,  fawning,  impudent,  neces- 
sary fellows,  that  lay  wait  for  strangers  on  their  ar- 
rival, tell  them  all  the  scandal  of  the  town,  and  offer 
to  minister  to  their  pleasures  at  various  prices.  This 
man  conducted  Candide  and  Martin  to  the  play- 
house; they  were  acting  a  new  tragedy.  Candide 
found  himself  placed  near  a  cluster  of  wits:  this, 
however,  did  not  prevent  him  from  shedding  tears 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  155 

at  some  parts  of  the  piece  which  were  most  affect- 
ing, and  best  acted.  One  of  these  talkers  said  to  him 
between  the  acts.  "You  are  greatly  to  blame  to  shed 
tears ;  that  actress  plays  horribly,  and  the  man  that 
plays  with  her  still  worse,  and  the  piece  itself  is  still 
more  execrable  than  the  representation.  The  author 
does  not  understand  a  word  of  Arabic,  and  yet  he 
has  laid  his  scene  in  Arabia,  and  what  is  more,  he  is 
a  fellow  who  does  not  believe  in  innate  ideas.  To- 
morrow I  will  bring  you  a  score  of  pamphlets  that 
have  been  written  against  him."  "Pray,  sir,"  said 
Candide  to  the  abbe,  "how  many  theatrical  pieces 
have  you  in  France?"  "Five  or  six  thousand,"  re- 
plied the  abbe.  "Indeed !  that  is  a  great  number," 
said  Candide,  "but  how  many  good  ones  may  there 
be?"  "About  fifteen  or  sixteen."  "Oh!  that  is  a 
great  number,"  said  Martin. 

Candide  was  greatly  taken  with  an  actress,  who 
performed  the  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth  in  a  dull  kind 
of  tragedy  that  is  played  sometimes.  "That  actress," 
said  he  to  Martin,  "pleases  me  greatly;  she  has 
some  sort  of  resemblance  to  Miss  Cunegund.  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  pay  my  respects  to  her."  The 
abbe  of  Perigord  offered  his  service  to  introduce 
him  to  her  at  her  own  house.  Candide,  who  was 
brought  up  in  Germany,  desired  to  know  what  might 
be  the  ceremonial  used  on  those  occasions,  and  how 
a  queen  of  England  was  treated  in  France.  "There 
is  a  necessary  distinction  to  be  observed  in  these 
matters,"  said  the  abbe.  "In  a  country  town  we  take 


156  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

them  to  a  tavern;  here  in  Paris,  they  are  treated 
with  great  respect  during  their  life  time,  provided 
they  are  handsome,  and  when  they  die  we  throw 
their  bodies  upon  a  dunghill."  "How?"  said  Can- 
dide, "throw  a  queen's  body  upon  a  dunghill!" 
"The  gentleman  is  quite  right,"  said  Martin,  "he 
tells  you  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  happened  to  be  at 
Paris  when  Miss  Monimia  made  her  exit,  as  one 
may  say,  out  of  this  world  into  another.  She  was 
refused  what  they  call  here  the  rites  of  sepulture; 
that  is  to  say,  she  was  denied  the  privilege  of  rot- 
ting in  a  churchyard  by  the  side  of  all  the  beggars  in 
the  parish.  They  buried  her  at  the  corner  of  Bur- 
gundy street,  which  must  certainly  have  shocked 
her  extremely,  as  she  had  very  exalted  notions  of 
things."  "This  is  acting  very  impolitely,"  said  Can- 
dide. "Lord!"  said  Martin,  "what  can  be  said  to 
it?  it  is  the  way  of  these  people.  Figure  to  yourself 
all  the  contradictions,  all  the  inconsistencies  possible, 
and  you  may  meet  with  them  in  the  government,  the 
courts  of  justice,  the  churches,  and  the  public  spec- 
tacles of  this  odd  nation."  "Is  it  true,"  said  Can- 
dide, "that  the  people  of  Paris  are  always  laugh- 
ing?" "Yes,"  replied  the  abbe,  "but  it  is  with  anger 
in  their  hearts;  they  express  all  their  complaints 
by  loud  bursts  of  laughter,  and  commit  the  most 
detestable  crimes  with  a  smile  on  their  faces." 

"Who  was  that  great  overgrown  beast,  "said 
Candide,  "  who  spoke  so  ill  to  me  of  the  piece  with 
which  I  was  so  much  affected,  and  of  the  players 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          157 

who  gave  me  so  much  pleasure?"  "A  very  good- 
for-nothing  sort  of  a  man  I  assure  you,"  answered 
the  abbe,  "one  who  gets  his  livelihood  by  abusing 
every  new  book  and  play  that  is  written  or  per- 
formed ;  he  dislikes  much  to  see  any  one  meet  with 
success,  like  eunuchs,  who  detest  every  one  that 
possesses  those  powers  they  are  deprived  of;  he  is 
one  of  those  vipers  in  literature  who  nourish  them- 
selves with  their  own  venom;  a  pamphlet-monger." 
"A  pamphlet-monger!"  said  Candide,  "what  is 
that?"  "Why,  a  pamphlet-monger,"  replied  the 
abbe,  "is  a  writer  of  pamphlets — a  fool." 

Candide,  Martin,  and  the  abbe  of  Perigord  ar- 
gued thus  on  the  staircase,  while  they  stood  to  see 
the  people  go  out  of  the  playhouse.  "Though  I  am 
very  anxious  to  see  Miss  Cunegund  again,"  said 
Candide,  "yet  I  have  a  great  inclination  to  sup  with 
Miss  Clafron,  for  I  am  really  much  taken  with 
her." 

The  abbe  was  not  a  person  to  show  his  face  at  this 
lady's  house,  which  was  frequented  by  none  but  the 
best  company.  "She  is  engaged  this  evening,"  said 
he,  "but  I  will  do  myself  the  honor  to  introduce  you 
to  a  lady  of  quality  of  my  acquaintance,  at  whose 
house  you  will  see  as  much  of  the  manners  of  Paris 
as  if  you  had  lived  here  for  forty  years." 

Candide,  who  was  naturally  curious,  suffered 
himself  to  be  conducted  to  this  lady's  house,  which 
was  in  the  suburbs  of  St.  Honore.  The  company 
was  engaged  at  basset;  twelve  melancholy  punters 


158  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

held  each  in  his  hand  a  small  pack  of  cards,  the  cor- 
ners of  which  were  doubled  down,  and  were  so 
many  registers  of  their  ill  fortune.  A  profound 
silence  reigned  throughout  the  assembly,  a  pallid 
dread  had  taken  possession  of  the  countenances  of 
the  punters,  and  restless  inquietude  stretched  every 
muscle  of  the  face  of  him  who  kept  the  bank ;  and 
the  lady  of  the  house,  who  was  seated  next  to  him, 
observed  with  lynx's  eyes  every  play  made,  and 
noted  those  who  tallied,  and  made  them  undouble 
their  cards  with  a  severe  exactness,  though  mixed 
with  a  politeness,  which  she  thought  necessary  not 
to  frighten  away  her  customers.  This  lady  assumed 
the  title  of  marchioness  of  Parolignac.  Her  daugh- 
ter, a  girl  of  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  was  one  of 
the  punters,  and  took  care  to  give  her  mamma  a  hint, 
by  signs,  when  any  one  of  the  players  attempted  to 
repair  the  rigor  of  their  ill  fortune  by  a  little  inno- 
cent deception.  The  company  were  thus  occupied 
when  Candide,  Martin,  and  the  abbe  made  their  en- 
trance ;  not  a  creature  rose  to  salute  them,  or  indeed 
took  the  least  notice  of  them,  being  wholly  intent 
upon  the  business  in  hand.  "Ah!"  said  Candide, 
"my  lady  baroness  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh  would 
have  behaved  more  civilly." 

However,  the  abbe  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the 
marchioness,  who  half  raising  herself  from  her  seat, 
honored  Candide  with  a  gracious  smile,  and  gave 
Martin  a  nod  of  her  head,  with  an  air  of  inexpress- 
ible dignity.  She  then  ordered  a  seat  for  Candide, 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  159 

and  desired  him  to  make  one  of  their  party  at  play ; 
he  did  so,  and  in  a  few  deals  lost  near  a  thousand 
pieces;  after  which  they  supped  very  elegantly, 
and  every  one  was  surprised  at  seeing  Candide  lose 
so  much  money  without  appearing  to  be  the  least 
disturbed  at  it.  The  servants  in  waiting  said  to  each 
other,  "This  is  certainly  some  English  lord." 

The  supper  was  like  most  others  of  its  kind  in 
Paris.  At  first  every  one  was  silent ;  then  followed 
a  few  confused  murmurs,  and  afterwards  several 
insipid  jokes  passed  and  repassed,  with  false  re- 
ports, false  reasonings,  a  little  politics,  and  a  great 
deal  of  scandal.  The  conversation  then  turned  upon 
the  new  productions  in  literature.  "Pray,"  said  the 
abbe,  "good  folks,  have  you  seen  the  romance  writ- 
ten by  the  Sieur  Gauchat,  doctor  of  divinity?" 
"Yes,"  answered  one  of  the  company,  "but  I  had  not 
patience  to  go  through  it.  The  town  is  pestered 
with  a  swarm  of  impertinent  productions,  but  this 
of  Dr.  Gauchat's  outdoes  them  all.  In  short,  I  was  so 
cursedly  tired  of  reading  this  vile  stuff  that  I  even 
resolved  to  come  here,  and  make  a  party  at  basset." 
"But  what  say  you  to  the  archdeacon  T 's  mis- 
cellaneous collection,"  said  the  abbe.  "Oh  my  God !" 
cried  the  marchioness  of  Parolignac,  "never  mention 
the  tedious  creature !  only  think  what  pains  he  is  at 
to  tell  one  things  that  all  the  world  knows ;  and  how 
he  labors  an  argument  that  is  hardly  worth  the 
slightest  consideration !  how  absurdly  he  makes  use 
of  other  people's  wit!  how  miserably  he  mangles 


160  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

what  he  has  pilfered  from  them!  The  man  makes 
me  quite  sick !  A  few  pages  of  the  good  archdeacon 
are  enough  in  conscience  to  satisfy  any  one." 

There  was  at  the  table  a  person  of  learning  and 
taste,  who  supported  what  the  marchioness  had  ad- 
vanced. They  next  began  to  talk  of  tragedies.  The 
lady  desired  to  know  how  it  came  about  that  there 
were  several  tragedies,  which  still  continued  to  be 
played,  though  they  would  not  bear  reading?  The 
man  of  taste  explained  very  clearly  how  a  piece  may 
be  in  some  manner  interesting  without  having  a 
grain  of  merit.  He  showed,  in  a  few  words,  that  it 
is  not  sufficient  to  throw  together  a  few  incidents 
that  are  to  be  met  with  in  every  romance,  and  that 
to  dazzle  the  spectator  the  thoughts  should  be  new, 
without  being  far-fetched;  frequently  sublime,  but 
always  natural ;  the  author  should  have  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart  and  make  it  speak 
properly;  he  should  be  a  complete  poet,  without 
showing  an  affectation  of  it  in  any  of  the  characters 
of  his  piece;  he  should  be  a  perfect  master  of  his 
language,  speak  it  with  all  its  purity,  and  with  the 
utmost  harmony,  and  yet  so  as  not  to  make  the  sense 
a  slave  to  the  rhyme.  "Whoever,"  added  he,  "neg- 
lects any  one  of  these  rules,  though  he  may  write 
two  or  three  tragedies  with  tolerable  success,  will 
never  be  reckoned  in  the  number  of  good  authors. 
There  are  very  few  good  tragedies ;  some  are  idyls, 
in  very  well-written  and  harmonious  dialogue ;  and 
others  a  chain  of  political  reasonings  that  set  one 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 6 1 

asleep,  or  else  pompous  and  high-flown  amplifica- 
tions, that  disgust  rather  than  please.  Others  again 
are  the  ravings  of  a  madman,  in  an  uncouth  style, 
unmeaning  flights,  or  long  apostrophes  to  the  deities, 
for  want  of  knowing  how  to  address  mankind ;  in 
a  word  a  collection  of  false  maxims  and  dull  com- 
monplace." 

Candide  listened  to  this  discourse  with  great  at- 
tention, and  conceived  a  high  opinion  of  the  person 
who  delivered  it ;  and  as  the  marchioness  had  taken 
care  to  place  him  near  her  side,  he  took  the  liberty 
to  whisper  her  softly  in  the  ear  and  ask  who  this  per- 
son was  that  spoke  so  well.  "He  is  a  man  of  let- 
ters," replied  her  ladyship,  "who  never  plays,  and 
whom  the  abbe  brings  with  him  to  my  house  some- 
times to  spend  an  evening.  He  is  a  great  judge  of 
writing,  especially  in  tragedy ;  he  has  composed  one 
himself,  which  was  damned,  and  has  written  a  book 
that  was  never  seen  out  of  his  bookseller's  shop, 
excepting  only  one  copy,  which  he  sent  me  with  a 
dedication,  to  which  he  had  prefixed  my  name." 
"Oh  the  great  man,"  cried  Candide,  "he  is  a  second 
Pangloss." 

Then  turning  towards  him,  "Sir,"  said  he,  "you 
are  doubtless  of  opinion  that  everything  is  for  the 
best  in  the  physical  and  moral  world,  and  that  noth- 
ing could  be  otherwise  than  it  is?"  "I,  sir!"  replied 
the  man  of  letters,  "I  think  no  such  thing,  I  assure 
you ;  I  find  that  all  in  this  world  is  set  the  wrong 

end  uppermost.     No  one  knows  what  is  his  rank, 
Vol.  i— it 


1 62  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

his  office,  nor  what  he  does,  nor  what  he  should  do. 
With  the  exception  of  our  evenings,  which  we  gen- 
erally pass  tolerably  merrily,  the  rest  of  our  time  is 
spent  in  idle  disputes  and  quarrels,  Jansenists  against 
Molinists,  the  parliament  against  the  Church,  and 
one  armed  body  of  men  against  another;  courtier 
against  courtier,  husband  against  wife,  and  relations 
against  relations.  In  short,  this  world  is  nothing  but 
one  continued  scene  of  civil  war." 

"Yes,"  said  Candide,  "and  I  have  seen  worse 
than  all  that ;  and  yet  a  learned  man,  who  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  hanged,  taught  me  that  everything 
was  marvellously  well,  and  that  these  evils  you  are 
speaking  of  were  only  so  many  shades  in  a  beautiful 
picture."  "Your  hempen  sage,"  said  Martin, 
"laughed  at  you ;  these  shades,  as  you  call  them,  are 
most  horrible  blemishes."  "The  men  make  these 
blemishes,"  rejoined  Candide,  "and  they  cannot  do 
otherwise."  "Then  it  is  not  their  fault,"  added  Mar- 
tin. The  greatest  part  of  the  gamesters,  who  did 
not  understand  a  syllable  of  this  discourse,  amused 
themselves  with  drinking,  while  Martin  reasoned 
with  the  learned  gentleman;  and  Candide  enter- 
tained'the  lady  of  the  house  with  a  part  of  his  ad- 
ventures. 

After  supper  the  marchioness  conducted  Candide 
into  her  dressing-room,  and  made  him  sit  down 
under  a  canopy.  "Well,"  said  she,  "are  you  still 
so  violently  fond  of  Miss  Cunegund  of  Thunder- 
ten-tronckh  ?"  "Yes,  madam,"  replied  Candide. 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 63 

The  marchioness  said  to  him  with  a  tender  smile, 
"You  answer  me  like  a  young  man  born  in  West- 
phalia; a  Frenchman  would  have  said,  'It  is  true, 
madam,  I  had  a  great  passion  for  Miss  Cunegund ; 
but  since  I  have  seen  you,  I  fear  I  can  no  longer 
love  her  as  I  did.'  "  "Alas !  madam,"  replied  Can- 
dide, "I  will  make  you  what  answer  you  please." 
"You  fell  in  love  with  her,  I  find,  in  stooping  to  pick 
up  her  handkerchief  which  she  had  dropped;  you 
shall  pick  up  my  garter."  "With  all  my  heart, 
madam,"  said  Candide,  and  he  picked  it  up.  "But 
you  must  tie  it  on  again,"  said  the  lady.  Candide 
tied  it  on  again.  "Look  ye,  young  man,"  said  the 
marchioness,  "you  are  a  stranger;  I  make  some  of 
my  lovers  here  in  Paris  languish  for  me  a  whole 
fortnight ;  but  I  surrender  to  you  at  first  sight, 
because  I  am  willing  to  do  the  honors  of  my  country 
to  a  young  Westphalian."  The  fair  one  having  cast 
her  eye  on  two  very  large  diamonds  that  were  upon 
the  young  stranger's  finger,  praised  them  in  so  earn- 
est a  manner  that  they  were  in  an  instant  transferred 
from  his  finger  to  hers. 

As  Candide  was  going  home  with  the  abbe  he 
felt  some  qualms  of  conscience  for  having  been 
guilty  of  infidelity  to  Miss  Cunegund.  The  abbe 
took  part  with  him  in  his  uneasiness;  he  had  but 
an  inconsiderable  share  in  the  thousand  pieces  Can- 
dide had  lost  at  play,  and  the  two  diamonds  which 
had  been  in  a  manner  extorted  from  him ;  and  there- 
fore very  prudently  designed  to  make  the  most  he 


1 64  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

could  of  his  new  acquaintance,  which  chance  had 
thrown  in  his  way.  He  talked  much  of  Miss  Cune- 
gund,  and  Candide  assured  him  that  he  would  heart- 
ily ask  pardon  of  that  fair  one  for  his  infidelity  to 
her,  when  he  saw  her  at  Venice. 

The  abbe  redoubled  his  civilities  and  seemed  to 
interest  himself  warmly  in  everything  that  Candide 
said,  did,  or  seemed  inclined  to  do. 

"And  so,  sir,  you  have  an  engagement  at  Venice  ?" 
"Yes,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  answered  Candide,  "I 
must  absolutely  wait  upon  Miss  Cunegund;"  and 
then  the  pleasure  he  took  in  talking  about  the  object 
he  loved,  led  him  insensibly  to  relate,  according  to 
custom,  part  of  his  adventures  with  that  illustrious 
Westphalian  beauty. 

"I  fancy,"  said  the  abbe,  "Miss  Cunegund  has  a 
great  deal  of  wit,  and  that  her  letters  must  be  very 
entertaining."  "I  never  received  any  from  her," 
said  Candide;  "for  you  are  to  consider  that,  being 
expelled  from  the  castle  upon  her  account,  I  could 
not  write  to  her,  especially  as  soon  after  my  depart- 
ure I  heard  she  was  dead ;  but  thank  God  I  found 
afterwards  she  was  living.  I  left  her  again  after 
this,  and  now  I  have  sent  a  messenger  to  her  near 
two  thousand  leagues  from  here,  and  wait  here  for 
his  return  with  an  answer  from  her." 

The  artful  abbe  let  not  a  word  of  all  this  escape 
him,  though  he  seemed  to  be  musing  upon  some- 
thing else.  He  soon  took  his  leave  of  the  two  ad- 
venturers, after  having  embraced  them  with  the 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  165 

greatest  cordiality.  The  next  morning,  almost  as 
soon  as  his  eyes  were  open,  Candide  received  the 
following  billet: 

"My  Dearest  Lover — I  have  been  ill  in  this  city 
these  eight  days.  I  have  heard  of  your  arrival,  and 
should  fly  to  your  arms  were  I  able  to  stir.  I  was 
informed  of  your  being  on  the  way  hither  at  Bor- 
deaux, where  I  left  the  faithful  Cacambo,  and  the 
old  woman,  who  will  soon  follow  me.  The  gover- 
nor of  Buenos  Ayres  has  taken  everything  from  me 
but  your  heart,  which  I  still  retain.  Come  to  me 
immediately  on  the  receipt  of  this.  Your  presence 
will  either  give  me  new  life,  or  kill  me  with  the 
pleasure." 

At  the  receipt  of  this  charming,  this  unexpected 
letter,  Candide  felt  the  utmost  transports  of  joy; 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  the  indisposition  of  his 
beloved  Miss  Cunegund  overwhelmed  him  with 
grief.  Distracted  between  these  two  passions  he 
took  his  gold  and  his  diamonds,  and  procured  a  per- 
son to  conduct  him  and  Martin  to  the  house  where 
Miss  Cunegund  lodged.  Upon  entering  the  room 
he  felt  his  limbs  tremble,  his  heart  flutter,  his  tongue 
falter;  he  attempted  to  undraw  the  curtain,  and 
called  for  a  light  to  the  bedside.  "Lord,  sir,"  cried 
a  maid  servant,  who  was  waiting  in  the  room,  "take 
care  what  you  do,  Miss  cannot  bear  the  least  light," 
and  so  saying  she  pulled  the  curtain  close  again. 
"Cunegund!  my  dear  Cunegund!"  cried  Candide, 
bathed  in  tears,  "how  do  you  do?  If  you  cannot 


1 66  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

bear  the  light,  speak  to  me  at  least."  "Alas !  she 
cannot  speak,"  said  the  maid.  The  sick  lady  then 
put  a  plump  hand  out  of  the  bed  and  Candide  first 
bathed  it  with  tears,  then  filled  it  with  diamonds, 
leaving  a  purse  of  gold  upon  the  easy  chair. 

In  the  midst  of  his  transports  came  an  officer 
into  the  room,  followed  by  the  abbe,  and  a  file  of 
musketeers.  "There,"  said  he,  "are  the  two  sus- 
pected foreigners;"  at  the  same  time  he  ordered 
them  to  be  seized  and  carried  to  prison.  "Travellers 
are  not  treated  in  this  manner  in  the  country  of  El 
Dorado,"  said  Candide.  "I  am  more  of  a  Mani- 
chaean  now  than  ever,"  said  Martin.  "But  pray, 
good  sir,  where  are  you  going  to  carry  us?"  said 
Candide.  "To  a  dungeon,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  the 
officer. 

When  Martin  had  a  little  recovered  himself,  so  as 
to  form  a  cool  judgment  of  what  had  passed,  he 
plainly  perceived  that  the  person  who  had  acted  the 
part  of  Miss  Cunegund  was  a  cheat ;  that  the  abbe 
of  Perigord  was  a  sharper  who  had  imposed  upon 
the  honest  simplicity  of  Candide,  and  that  the  officer 
was  a  knave,  whom  they  might  easily  get  rid  of. 

Candide  following  the  advice  of  his  friend  Martin, 
and  burning  with  impatience  to  see  the  real  Miss 
Cunegund,  rather  than  be  obliged  to  appear  at  a 
court  of  justice,  proposed  to  the  officer  to  make  him 
a  present  of  three  small  diamonds,  each  of  them, 
worth  three  thousand  pistoles.  "Ah,  sir,"  said  this 
understrapper  of  justice,  "had  you  committed  ever 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  167 

so  much  villainy,  this  would  render  you  the  honest- 
est  man  living,  in  my  eyes.  Three  diamonds  worth 
three  thousand  pistoles!  why,  my  dear  sir,  so  far 
from  carrying  you  to  jail,  I  would  lose  my  life  to 
serve  you.  There  are  orders  for  stopping  all  stran- 
gers ;  but  leave  it  to  me,  I  have  a  brother  at  Dieppe, 
in  Normandy;  I  myself  will  conduct  you  thither, 
and  if  you  have  a  diamond  left  to  give  him  he  will 
take  as  much  care  of  you  as  I  myself  should." 

"But  why,"  said  Candide,  "do  they  stop  all 
strangers?"  The  abbe  of  Perigord  made  answer 
that  it  was  because  a  poor  devil  of  the  country  of 
Atrebata  heard  somebody  tell  foolish  stories,  and 
this  induced  him  to  commit  a  parricide;  not  such 
a  one  as  that  in  the  month  of  May,  1610,  but  such 
as  that  in  the  month  of  December,  in  the  year  1594, 
and  such  as  many  that  have  been  perpetrated  in 
other  months  and  years,  by  other  poor  devils  who 
had  heard  foolish  stories. 

The  officer  then  explained  to  them  what  the  abbe 
meant.  "Horrid  monsters,"  exclaimed  Candide,  "is 
it  possible  that  such  scenes  should  pass  among  a 
people  who  are  perpetually  singing  and  dancing? 
Is  there  no  flying  this  abominable  country  immedi- 
ately, this  execrable  kingdom  where  monkeys  pro- 
voke tigers?  I  have  seen  bears  in  my  country,  but 
men  I  have  beheld  nowhere  but  in  El  Dorado.  In 
the  name  of  God,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  officer,  "do 
me  the  kindness  to  conduct  me  to  Venice,  where  I 
am  to  wait  for  Miss  Cunegund."  "Really,  sir," 


1 68  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

replied  the  officer,  "I  cannot  possibly  wait  on  you 
farther  than  Lower  Normandy."  So  saying,  he 
ordered  Candide's  irons  to  be  struck  off,  acknowl- 
edged himself  mistaken,  and  sent  his  followers  about 
their  business,  after  which  he  conducted  Candide 
and  Martin  to  Dieppe,  and  left  them  to  the  care  of 
his  brother.  There  happened  just  then  to  be  a  small 
Dutch  ship  in  the  harbor.  The  Norman,  whom  the 
other  three  diamonds  had  converted  into  the  most 
obliging,  serviceable  being  that  ever  breathed,  took 
care  to  see  Candide  and  his  attendants  safe  on  board 
this  vessel,  that  was  just  ready  to  sail  for  Ports- 
mouth in  England.  This  was  not  the  nearest  way 
to  Venice,  indeed,  but  Candide  thought  himself  es- 
caped out  of  hell,  and  did  not,  in  the  least,  doubt  but 
he  should  quickly  find  an  opportunity  of  resuming 
his  voyage  to  Venice. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CANDIDE    AND    MARTIN    TOUCH    UPON    THE    ENGLISH 
COAST WHAT  THEY  SEE  THERE. 

"An  PANGLOSS!  Pangloss!  ah  Martin!  Martin! 
ah  my  dear  Miss  Cunegund !  what  sort  of  a  world  is 
this?"  Thus  exclaimed  Candide  as  soon  as  he  got 
on  board  the  Dutch  ship.  "Why  something  very 
foolish,  and  very  abominable,"  said  Martin.  "You 
are  acquainted  with  England,"  said  Candide;  "are 
they  as  great  fools  in  that  country  as  in  France?" 
"Yes,  but  in  a  different  manner,"  answered  Martin. 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          169 

"You  know  that  these  two  nations  are  at  war  about 
a  few  acres  of  barren  land  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Canada,  and  that  they  have  expended  much  greater 
sums  in  the  contest  than  all  Canada  is  worth.  To 
say  exactly  whether  there  are  a  greater  number  fit 
to  be  inhabitants  of  a  madhouse  in  the  one  country 
than  the  other,  exceeds  the  limits  of  my  imperfect 
capacity ;  I  know  in  general  that  the  people  we  are 
going  to  visit  are  of  a  very  dark  and  gloomy  dispo- 
sition." 

As  they  were  chatting  thus  together  they  arrived 
at  Portsmouth.  The  shore  on  each  side  the  harbor 
was  lined  with  a  multitude  of  people,  whose  eyes 
were  steadfastly  fixed  on  a  lusty  man  who  was 
kneeling  down  on  the  deck  of  one  of  the  men-of- 
war,  with  something  tied  before  his  eyes.  Opposite 
to  this  personage  stood  four  soldiers,  each  of  whom 
shot  three  bullets  into  his  skull,  with  all  the  com- 
posure imaginable ;  and  when  it  was  done,  the  whole 
company  went  away  perfectly  well  satisfied.  "What 
the  devil  is  all  this  for?"  said  Candide,  "and  what 
demon,  or  foe  of  mankind,  lords  it  thus  tyrannically 
over  the  world  ?"  He  then  asked  who  was  that  lusty 
man  who  had  been  sent  out  of  the  world  with  so 
much  ceremony.  When  he  received  for  answer,  that 
it  was  an  admiral.  "And  pray  why  do  you  put  your 
admiral  to  death?"  "Because  he  did  not  put  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  his  fellow-creatures  to  death.  You 
must  know,  he  had  an  engagement  with  a  French 
admiral,  and  it  has  been  proved  against  him  that 


170  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

he  was  not  near  enough  to  his  antagonist."  "But," 
replied  Candide,  "the  French  admiral  must  have 
been  as  far  from  him."  "There  is  no  doubt  of  that ; 
but  in  this  country  it  is  found  requisite,  now  and 
then,  to  put  an  admiral  to  death,  in  order  to  encour- 
age the  others  to  fight." 

Candide  was  so  shocked  at  what  he  saw  and 
heard,  that  he  would  not  set  foot  on  shore,  but  made 
a  bargain  with  the  Dutch  skipper  (were  he  even  to 
rob  him  like  the  captain  of  Surinam)  to  carry  him 
directly  to  Venice. 

The  skipper  was  ready  in  two  days.  They  sailed 
along  the  coast  of  France,  and  passed  within  sight 
of  Lisbon,  at  which  Candide  trembled.  From  thence 
they  proceeded  to  the  Straits,  entered  the  Mediterra- 
nean, and  at  length  arrived  at  Venice.  "God  be 
praised,"  said  Candide,  embracing  Martin,  "this  is 
the  place  where  I  am  to  behold  my  beloved  Cune- 
gund  once  again.  I  can  confide  in  Cacambo,  like 
another  self.  All  is  well,  all  very  well,  all  as  well 
as  possible." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

OF  PACQUETTE  AND  FRIAR  GIROFLEE. 

UPON  their  arrival  at  Venice  Candide  went  in 
search  of  Cacambo  at  every  inn  and  coffee-house, 
and  among  all  the  ladies  of  pleasure,  but  could  hear 
nothing  of  him.  He  sent  every  day  to  inquire  what 
ships  were  in,  still  no  news  of  Cacambo.  "It  is 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  171 

strange,"  said  he  to  Martin,  "very  strange  that  I 
should  have  had  time  to  sail  from  Surinam  to  Bor- 
deaux; to  travel  thence  to  Paris,  to  Dieppe,  to 
Portsmouth;  to  sail  along  the  coast  of  Portugal 
and  Spain,  and  up  the  Mediterranean  to  spend 
some  months  at  Venice;  and  that  my  lovely 
Cunegund  should  not  have  arrived.  Instead  of  her, 
I  only  met  with  a  Parisian  impostor,  and  a  rascally 
abbe  of  Perigord.  Cunegund  is  actually  dead,  and 
I  have  nothing  to  do  but  follow  her.  Alas!  how 
much  better  would  it  have  been  for  me  to  have  re- 
mained in  the  paradise  of  El  Dorado  than  to  have  re- 
turned to  this  cursed  Europe !  You  are  in  the  right, 
my  dear  Martin ;  you  are  certainly  in  the  right ;  all 
is  misery  and  deceit." 

He  fell  into  a  deep  melancholy,  and  neither  went 
to  the  opera  then  in  vogue,  nor  partook  of  any  of 
the  diversions  of  the  carnival ;  nay,  he  even  slighted 
the  fair  sex.  Martin  said  to  him,  "Upon  my  word, 
I  think  you  are  very  simple  to  imagine  that  a  ras- 
cally valet,  with  five  or  six  millions  in  his  pocket, 
would  go  in  search  of  your  mistress  to  the  further 
end  of  the  world,  and  bring  her  to  Venice  to  meet 
you.  If  he  finds  her  he  will  take  her  for  himself; 
if  he  does  not,  he  will  take  another.  Let  me  advise 
you  to  forget  your  valet  Cacambo,  and  your  Mistress 
Cunegund."  Martin's  speech  was  not  the  most  con- 
solatory to  the  dejected  Candide.  His  melancholy 
increased,  and  Martin  never  ceased  trying  to  prove 
to  him  that  there  is  very  little  virtue  or  happiness 


1 72  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

in  this  world;  except,  perhaps,  in  El  Dorado,  where 
hardly  anybody  can  gain  admittance. 

While  they  were  disputing  on  this  important  sub- 
ject, and  still  expecting  Miss  Cunegund,  Candide 
perceived  a  young  Theatin  friar  in  St.  Mark's  Place, 
with  a  girl  under  his  arm.  The  Theatin  looked 
fresh-colored,  plump,  and  vigorous ;  his  eyes  spar- 
kled ;  his  air  and  gait  were  bold  and  lofty.  The  girl 
was  pretty,  and  was  singing  a  song ;  and  every  now 
and  then  gave  her  Theatin  an  amorous  ogle  and 
wantonly  pinched  his  ruddy  cheeks.  "You  will  at 
least  allow,"  said  Candide  to  Martin,  "that  these  two 
are  happy.  Hitherto  I  have  met  with  none  but  un- 
fortunate people  in  the  whole  habitable  globe,  ex- 
cept in  El  Dorado;  but  as  to  this  couple,  I  would 
venture  to  lay  a  wager  they  are  happy."  "Done !" 
said  Martin,  "they  are  not  what  you  imagine." 
"Well,  we  have  only  to  ask  them  to  dine  with  us," 
said  Candide,  "and  you  will  see  whether  I  am  mis- 
taken or  not." 

Thereupon  he  accosted  them,  and  with  great  po- 
liteness invited  them  to  his  inn  to  eat  some  macaroni, 
with  Lombard  partridges  and  caviare,  and  to  drink 
a  bottle  of  Montepulciano,  Lacryma  Christi,  Cyprus, 
and  Samos  wine.  The  girl  blushed ;  the  Theatin  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  and  she  followed  him,  eyeing 
Candide  every  now  and  then  with  a  mixture  of  sur- 
prise and  confusion,  while  the  tears  stole  down  her 
cheeks.  No  sooner  did  she  enter  his  apartment  than 
she  cried  out.  "How,  Mr.  Candide,  have  you  quite 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          173 

forgot  your  Pacquette?  do  you  not  know  her  again?" 
Candide  had  not  regarded  her  with  any  degree  of 
attention  before,  being  wholly  occupied  with  the 
thoughts  of  his  dear  Cunegund.  "Ah!  is  it  you, 
child?  was  it  you  that  reduced  Doctor  Pangloss  to 
that  fine  condition  I  saw  him  in?" 

"Alas!  sir,"  answered  Pacquette,  "it  was  I,  in- 
deed. I  find  you  are  acquainted  with  everything; 
and  I  have  been  informed  of  all  the  misfortunes  that 
happened  to  the  whole  family  of  my  lady  baroness 
and  the  fair  Cunegund.  But  I  can  safely  swear  to 
you  that  my  lot  was  no  less  deplorable ;  I  was  inno- 
cence itself  when  you  saw  me  last.  A  cordelier, 
who  was  my  confessor,  easily  seduced  me ;  the  con- 
sequences proved  terrible.  I  was  obliged  to  leave 
the  castle  some  time  after  the  baron  kicked  you  out 
from  there ;  and  if  a  famous  surgeon  had  not  taken 
compassion  on  me,  I  had  been  a  dead  woman.  Grat- 
itude obliged  me  to  live  with  him  some  time  as  a 
mistress ;  his  wife,  who  was  a  very  devil  for  jeal- 
ousy, beat  me  unmercifully  every  day.  Oh !  she  was 
a  perfect  fury.  The  doctor  himself  was  the  most 
ugly  of  all  mortals,  and  I  the  most  wretched  crea- 
ture existing,  to  be  continually  beaten  for  a  man 
whom  I  did  not  love.  You  are  sensible,  sir,  how 
dangerous  it  was  for  an  ill-natured  woman  to  be 
married  to  a  physician.  Incensed  at  the  behavior  of 
his  wife,  he  one  day  gave  her  so  affectionate  a  rem- 
edy for  a  slight  cold  she  had  caught  that  she  died 
in  less  than  two  hours  in  most  dreadful  convulsions. 


174  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Her  relations  prosecuted  the  husband,  who  was 
obliged  to  fly,  and  I  was  sent  to  prison.  My  inno- 
cence would  not  have  saved  me,  if  I  had  not  been 
tolerably  handsome.  The  judge  gave  me  my  liberty 
on  condition  he  should  succeed  the  doctor.  How- 
ever, I  was  soon  supplanted  by  a  rival,  turned  off 
without  a  farthing,  and  obliged  to  continue  {he 
abominable  trade  which  you  men  think  so  pleasing, 
but  which  to  us  unhappy  creatures  is  the  most 
dreadful  of  all  sufferings.  At  length  I  came  to 
follow  the  business  at  Venice.  Ah !  sir,  did  you 
but  know  what  it  is  to  be  obliged  to  receive 
every  visitor;  old  tradesmen,  counsellors,  monks, 
watermen,  and  abbes;  to  be  exposed  to  all  their 
insolence  and  abuse;  to  be  often  necessitated  to 
borrow  a  petticoat,  only  that  it  may  be  taken  up 
by  some  disagreeable  wretch ;  to  be  robbed  by  one 
gallant  of  what  we  get  from  another;  to  be  sub- 
ject to  the  extortions  of  civil  magistrates;  and  to 
have  forever  before  one's  eyes  the  prospect  of  old 
age,  a  hospital,  or  a  dunghill,  you  would  conclude 
that  I  am  one  of  the  most  unhappy  wretches  breath- 
ing." 

Thus  did  Pacquette  unbosom  herself  to  honest 
Candide  in  his  closet,  in  the  presence  of  Martin, 
who  took  occasion  to  say  to  him,  "You  see  I  have 
half  won  the  wager  already." 

Friar  Giroflee  was  all  this  time  in  the  parlor  re- 
freshing himself  with  a  glass  or  two  of  wine  till 
dinner  was  ready.  "But,"  said  Candide  to  Pao 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  175 

quette,  "you  looked  so  gay  and  contented,  when  I 
met  you,  you  sang  and  caressed  the  Theatin  with 
so  much  fondness,  that  I  absolutely  thought  you  as 
happy  as  you  say  you  are  now  miserable."  "Ah! 
dear  sir,"  said  Pacquette,  "this  is  one  of  the  miser- 
ies of  the  trade;  yesterday  I  was  stripped  and 
beaten  by  an  officer ;  yet  to-day  I  must  appear  good 
humored  and  gay  to  please  a  friar." 

Candide  was  convinced  and  acknowledged  that 
Martin  was  in  the  right.  They  sat  down  to  table 
with  Pacquette  and  the  Theatin ;  the  entertainment 
was  agreeable,  and  towards  the  end  they  began 
to  converse  together  with  some  freedom.  "Father," 
said  Candide  to  the  friar,  "you  seem  to  me  to  enjoy 
a  state  of  happiness  that  even  kings  might  envy; 
joy  and  health  are  painted  in  your  countenance. 
You  have  a  pretty  wench  to  divert  you;  and  you 
seem  to  be  perfectly  well  contented  with  your  con- 
dition as  a  Theatin." 

"Faith,  sir,"  said  Friar  Giroflee,  "I  wish  with 
all  my  soul  the  Theatins  were  every  one  of  them 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  I  have  been  tempted  a 
thousand  times  to  set  fire  to  the  convent  and  go  and 
turn  Turk.  My  parents  obliged  me,  at  the  age  of 
fifteen,  to  put  on  this  detestable  habit  only  to  in- 
crease the  fortune  of  an  elder  brother  of  mine, 
whom  God  confound !  Jealousy,  discord,  and  fury, 
reside  in  our  convent.  It  is  true  I  have  preached 
often  paltry  sermons,  by  which  I  have  got  a  little 
money,  part  of  which  the  prior  robs  me  of,  and  the 


ij6  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

remainder  helps  to  pay  my  girls ;  but,  at  night, 
when  I  go  hence  to  my  convent,  I  am  ready  to  dash 
my  brains  against  the  walls  of  the  dormitory ;  and 
this  is  the  case  with  all  the  rest  of  our  fraternity." 

Martin,  turning  towards  Candide,  with  his  usual 
indifference,  said,  "Well,  what  think  you  now  ?  have 
I  won  the  wager  entirely?"  Candide  gave  two 
thousand  piastres  to  Pacquette,  and  a  thousand  to 
Friar  Giroflee,  saying,  "I  will  answer  that  this  will 
make  them  happy."  "I  am  not  of  your  opinion," 
said  Martin,  "perhaps  this  money  will  only  make 
them  wretched."  "Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  Can- 
dide, "one  thing  comforts  me;  I  see  that  one  often 
meets  with  those  whom  one  never  expected  to  see 
again;  so  that,  perhaps,  as  I  have  found  my  red 
sheep  and  Pacquette,  I  may  be  lucky  enough  to 
find  Miss  Cunegund  also."  "I  wish,"  said  Martin, 
"she  one  day  may  make  you  happy;  but  I  doubt  it 
much."  "You  lack  faith,"  said  Candide.  "It  is  be- 
cause," said  Martin,  "I  have  seen  the  world." 

"Observe  those  gondoliers,"  said  Candide,  "are 
they  not  perpetually  singing?"  "You  do  not  see 
them,"  answered  Martin,  "at  home  with  their  wives 
and  brats.  The  doge  has  his  chagrin,  gondoliers 
theirs.  Nevertheless,  in  the  main,  I  look  upon  the 
gondolier's  life  as  preferable  to  that  of  the  doge; 
but  the  difference  is  so  trifling  that  it  is  not  worth 
the  trouble  of  examining  into." 

"I  have  heard  great  talk,"  said  Candide,  "of  the 
Senator  Pococurante,  who  lives  in  that  fine  house 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          177 

at  the  Brenta,  where,  they  say,  he  entertains  for- 
eigners in  the  most  polite  manner."  "They  pretend 
this  man  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  uneasiness.  I 
should  be  glad  to  see  so  extraordinary  a  being,"  said 
Martin.  Candide  thereupon  sent  a  messenger  to 
Seignor  Pococurante,  desiring  permission  to  wait  on 
him  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CANDIDE  AND  MARTIN  PAY  A  VISIT  TO  SEIGNOR  POCO- 
CURANTE^ A  NOBLE  VENETIAN. 

CANDIDE  and  his  friend  Martin  went  in  a  gon- 
dola on  the  Brenta,  and  arrived  at  the  palace  of  the 
noble  Pococurante.  The  gardens  were  laid  out  in 
elegant  taste,  and  adorned  with  fine  marble  statues ; 
his  palace  was  built  after  the  most  approved  rules 
of  architecture.  The  master  of  the  house,  who  was 
a  man  of  affairs,  and  very  rich,  received  our  two 
travellers  with  great  politeness,  but  without  much 
ceremony,  which  somewhat  disconcerted  Candide, 
but  was  not  at  all  displeasing  to  Martin. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  two  very  pretty 
girls,  neatly  dressed,  brought  in  chocolate,  which 
was  extremely  well  prepared.  Candide  could  not 
help  making  encomiums  upon  their  beauty  and 
graceful  carriage.  "The  creatures  are  well  enough," 
said  the  senator;  "  I  amuse  myself  with  them  some- 
times, for  I  am  heartily  tired  of  the  women  of  the 
Vol.i— 12 


178  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

town,  their  coquetry,  their  jealousy,  their  quarrels, 
their  humors,  their  meannesses,  their  pride,  and 
their  folly;  I  am  weary  of  making  sonnets,  or  of 
paying  for  sonnets  to  be  made  on  them;  but  after 
all,  these  two  girls  begin  to  grow  very  indifferent 
to  me." 

After  having  refreshed  himself,  Candide  walked 
into  a  large  gallery,  where  he  was  struck  with  the 
sight  of  a  fine  collection  of  paintings.  "Pray,"  said 
Candide,  "by  what  master  are  the  two  first  of 
these  ?"  "They  are  by  Raphael,"  answered  the  sena- 
tor. "I  gave  a  great  deal  of  money  for  them  seven 
years  ago,  purely  out  of  curiosity,  as  they  were  said 
to  be  the  finest  pieces  in  Italy ;  but  I  cannot  say  they 
please  me:  the  coloring  is  dark  and  heavy;  the 
figures  do  not  swell  nor  come  out  enough ;  and  the 
drapery  is  bad.  In  short,  notwithstanding  the  en- 
comiums lavished  upon  them,  they  are  not,  in  my 
opinion,  a  true  representation  of  nature.  I  approve 
of  no  paintings  save  those  wherein  I  think  I  behold 
nature  herself;  and  there  are  few,  if  any,  of  that 
kind  to  be  met  with.  I  have  what  is  called  a  fine 
collection,  but  I  take  no  manner  of  delight  in  it." 

While  dinner  was  being  prepared  Pococurante 
ordered  a  concert.  Candide  praised  the  music  to  the 
skies.  "This  noise,"  said  the  noble  Venetian,  "may 
amuse  one  for  a  little  time,  but  if  it  were  to  last 
above  half  an  hour,  it  would  grow  tiresome  to  every- 
body, though  perhaps  no  one  would  care  to  own  it. 
Music  has  become  the  art  of  executing  what  is  diffi- 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          179 

cult ;  now,  whatever  is  difficult  cannot  be  long  pleas- 
ing. 

"I  believe  I  might  take  more  pleasure  in  an  opera, 
if  they  had  not  made  such  a  monster  of  that  species 
of  dramatic  entertainment  as  perfectly  shocks  me; 
and  I  am  amazed  how  people  can  bear  to  see 
wretched  tragedies  set  to  music;  where  the  scenes 
are  contrived  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  lug  in, 
as  it  were  by  the  ears,  three  or  four  ridiculous  songs, 
to  give  a  favorite  actress  an  opportunity  of  exhibit- 
ing her  pipe.  Let  who  will  die  away  in  raptures  at 
the  trills  of  a  eunuch  quavering  the  majestic  part 
of  Caesar  or  Cato,  and  strutting  in  a  foolish  manner 
upon  the  stage,  but  for  my  part  I  have  long  ago  re- 
nounced these  paltry  entertainments,  which  consti- 
tute the  glory  of  modern  Italy,  and  are  so  dearly 
purchased  by  crowned  heads."  Candide  opposed 
these  sentiments;  but  he  did  it  in  a  discreet  man- 
ner ;  as  for  Martin,  he  was  entirely  of  the  old  sena- 
tor's opinion. 

Dinner  being  served  they  sat  down  to  table, 
and,  after  a  hearty  repast,  returned  to  the  library. 
Candide,  observing  Homer  richly  bound,  com- 
mended the  noble  Venetian's  taste.  "This,"  said  he, 
"is  a  book  that  was  once  the  delight  of  the  great 
Pangloss,  the  best  philosopher  in  Germany."  "Ho- 
mer is  no  favorite  of  mine,"  answered  Pococurante, 
coolly;  "I  was  made  to  believe  once  that  I  took  a 
pleasure  in  reading  him ;  but  his  continual  repeti- 
tions of  battles  have  all  such  a  resemblance  with 


180  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

each  other;  his  gods  that  are  forever  in  haste  and 
bustle,  without  ever  doing  anything;  his  Helen, 
who  is  the  cause  of  the  war,  and  yet  hardly  acts  in 
the  whole  performance ;  his  Troy,  that  holds  out  so 
long,  without  being  taken :  in  short,  all  these  things 
together  make  the  poem  very  insipid  to  me.  I  have 
asked  some  learned  men,  whether  they  are  not  in 
reality  as  much  tired  as  myself  with  reading  this 
poet :  those  who  spoke  ingenuously,  assured  me  that 
he  had  made  them  fall  asleep,  and  yet  that  they 
could  not  well  avoid  giving  him  a  place  in  their 
libraries ;  but  that  it  was  merely  as  they  would  do 
an  antique,  or  those  rusty  medals  which  are  kept 
only  for  curiosity,  and  are  of  no  manner  of  use  in 
commerce." 

"But  your  excellency  does  not  surely  form  the 
same  opinion  of  Virgil?"  said  Candide.  "Why,  I 
grant,"  replied  Pococurante,  "that  the  second,  third, 
fourth,  and  sixth  books  of  his  "^Eneid"  are  excel- 
lent ;  but  as  for  his  pious  y£neas,  his  strong  Clean- 
thus,  his  friendly  Achates,  his  boy  Ascanius,  his  silly 
king  Latinus,  his  ill-bred  Amata,  his  insipid  La- 
vinia,  and  some  other  characters  much  in  the  same 
strain,  I  think  there  cannot  in  nature  be  anything 
more  flat  and  disagreeable.  I  must  confess  I  prefer 
Tasso  far  beyond  him;  nay,  even  that  sleepy  tale- 
teller Ariosto." 

"May  I  take  the  liberty  to  ask  if  you  do  not  ex- 
perience great  pleasure  from  reading  Horace  ?"  said 
Candide.  "There  are  maxims  in  this  writer,"  re- 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 8 1 

plied  Pococurante,  "whence  a  man  of  the  world  may 
reap  some  benefit;  and  the  short  measure  of  the 
verse  makes  them  more  easily  to  be  retained  in  the 
memory.  But  I  see  nothing  extraordinary  in  his 
journey  to  Brundusium,  and  his  account  of  his  bad 
dinner;  nor  in  his  dirty,  low  quarrel  between  one 
Rupillius,  whose  words,  as  he  expresses  it,  were 
full  of  poisonous  filth ;  and  another,  whose  language 
was  dipped  in  vinegar.  His  indelicate  verses  against 
old  women  and  witches  have  frequently  given  me 
great  offence:  nor  can  I  discover  the  great  merit 
of  his  telling  his  friend  Maecenas,  that  if  he  will  but 
rank  him  in  the  class  of  lyric  poets,  his  lofty  head 
shall  touch  the  stars.  Ignorant  readers  are  apt  to 
judge  a  writer  by  his  reputation.  For  my  part,  I 
read  only  to  please  myself.  I  like  nothing  but  what 
makes  for  my  purpose."  Candide,  who  had  been 
brought  up  with  a  notion  of  never  making  use  of  his 
own  judgment,  was  astonished  at  what  he  heard ; 
but  Martin  found  there  was  a  good  deal  of  reason  in 
the  senator's  remarks. 

"O !  here  is  a  Tully,"  said  Candide ;  "this  great 
man  I  fancy  you  are  never  tired  of  reading?"  "In- 
deed I  never  read  him  at  all,"  replied  Pococurante. 
"What  is  it  to  me  whether  he  pleads  for  Rabirius  or 
Cluentius?  I  try  causes  enough  myself.  I  had  once 
some  liking  for  his  philosophical  works;  but  when 
I  found  he  doubted  everything,  I  thought  I  knew  as 
much  as  himself,  and  had  no  need  of  a  guide  to 
learn  ignorance." 


1 82  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

"Ha !"  cried  Martin,  "here  are  fourscore  volumes 
of  the  memoirs  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences ;  perhaps 
there  may  be  something  curious  and  valuable  in  this 
collection."  "Yes,"  answered  Pococurante;  "so 
there  might  if  any  one  of  these  compilers  of  this  rub- 
bish had  only  invented  the  art  of  pin-making:  but 
all  these  volumes  are  filled  with  mere  chimerical 
systems,  without  one  single  article  conducive  to  real 
utility." 

"I  see  a  prodigious  number  of  plays,"  said  Can- 
dide,  "in  Italian,  Spanish,  and  French."  "Yes,"  re- 
plied the  Venetian;  "there  are  I  think  three  thou- 
sand, and  not  three  dozen  of  them  good  for  any- 
thing. As  to  those  huge  volumes  of  divinity,  and 
those  enormous  collections  of  sermons,  they  are  not 
all  together  worth  one  single  page  in  Seneca;  and 
I  fancy  you  will  readily  believe  that  neither  myself, 
nor  anyone  else,  ever  looks  into  them." 

Martin,  perceiving  some  shelves  filled  with  Eng- 
lish books,  said  to  the  senator :  "I  fancy  that  a  re- 
publican must  be  highly  delighted  with  those  books, 
which  are  most  of  them  written  with  a  noble  spirit 
of  freedom."  "It  is  noble  to  write  as  we  think," 
said  Pococurante;  "it  is  the  privilege  of  humanity. 
Throughout  Italy  we  write  only  what  we  do  not 
think ;  and  the  present  inhabitants  of  the  country  of 
the  Caesars  and  Antonines  dare  not  acquire  a 
single  idea  without  the  permission  of  a  Dominican 
father.  I  should  be  enamored  of  the  spirit  of  the 
English  nation,  did  it  not  utterly  frustrate  the  good 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  1 83 

effects  it  would  produce  by  passion  and  the  spirit  of 
party." 

Candide,  seeing  a  Milton,  asked  the  senator  if  he 
did  not  think  that  author  a  great  man.  "Who?" 
said  Pococurante  sharply;  "that  barbarian  who 
writes  a  tedious  commentary  in  ten  books  of  rum- 
bling verse,  on  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis?  that 
slovenly  imitator  of  the  Greeks,  who  disfigures  the 
creation,  by  making  the  Messiah  take  a  pair  of  com- 
passes from  heaven's  armory  to  plan  the  world; 
whereas  Moses  represented  the  Deity  as  producing 
the  whole  universe  by  his  Hat?  Can  I  think  you 
have  any  esteem  for  a  writer  who  has  spoiled 
Tasso's  hell  and  the  devil ;  who  transforms  Lucifer 
sometimes  into  a  toad,  and  at  others  into  a  pygmy ; 
who  makes  him  say  the  same  thing  over  again  a 
hundred  times ;  who  metamorphoses  him  into  a 
school-divine ;  and  who,  by  an  absurdly  serious  imi- 
tation of  Ariosto's  comic  invention  of  firearms,  rep- 
resents the  devils  and  angels  cannonading  each 
other  in  heaven?  Neither  I  nor  any  other  Italian 
can  possibly  take  pleasure  in  such  melancholy  rever- 
ies ;  but  the  marriage  of  Sin  and  Death,  and  snakes 
issuing  from  the  womb  of  the  former,  are  enough  to 
make  any  person  sick  that  is  not  lost  to  all  sense  of 
delicacy.  This  obscene,  whimsical,  and  disagreeable 
poem  met  with  the  neglect  it  deserved  at  its  first 
publication ;  and  I  only  treat  the  author  now  as  he 
was  treated  in  his  own  country  by  his  contempo- 
raries." 


1 84  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Candida  was  sensibly  grieved  at  this  speech,  as 
he  had  a  great  respect  for  Homer,  and  was  fond  of 
Milton.  "Alas!"  said  he  softly  to  Martin,  "I  am 
afraid  this  man  holds  our  German  poets  in  great 
contempt."  "There  would  be  no  such  great  harm  in 
that,"  said  Martin.  "O  what  a  surprising  man!" 
said  Candide,  still  to  himself;  "what  a  prodigious 
genius  is  this  Pococurante !  nothing  can  please 
him." 

After  finishing  their  survey  of  the  library,  they 
went  down  into  the  garden,  when  Candide  com- 
mended the  several  beauties  that  offered  themselves 
to  his  view.  "I  know  nothing  upon  earth  laid  out 
in  such  bad  taste,"  said  Pococurante;  "everything 
about  it  is  childish  and  trifling ;  but  I  shall  have  an- 
other laid  out  to-morrow  upon  a  nobler  plan." 

As  soon  as  our  two  travellers  had  taken  leave  of 
his  excellency,  "Well,"  said  Candide  to  Martin,  "I 
hope  you  will  own  that  this  man  is  the  happiest  of 
all  mortals,  for  he  is  above  everything  he  possesses." 
"But  do  not  you  see,"  answered  Martin,  "that  he 
likewise  dislikes  everything  he  possesses?  It  was 
an  observation  of  Plato,  long  since,  that  those  are 
not  the  best  stomachs  that  reject,  without  distinc- 
tion, all  sorts  of  aliments."  "True,"  said  Candide, 
"but  still  there  must  certainly  be  a  pleasure  in  criti- 
cising everything,  and  in  perceiving  faults  where 
others  think  they  see  beauties."  "That  is,"  replied 
Martin,  "there  is  a  pleasure  in  having  no  pleasure." 
"Well,  well,"  said  Candide,  "I  find  that  I  shall  be  the 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  185 

only  happy  man  at  last,  when  I  am  blessed  with  the 
sight  of  my  dear  Cunegund."  "It  is  good  to  hope," 
said  Martin. 

In  the  meanwhile,  days  and  weeks  passed  away, 
and  no  news  of  Cacambo.  Candide  was  so  over- 
whelmed with  grief,  that  he  did  not  reflect  on  the 
behavior  of  Pacquette  and  Friar  Giroflee,  who 
never  stayed  to  return  him  thanks  for  the  presents 
he  had  so  generously  made  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CANDIDE    AND    MARTIN    SUP    WITH    SIX    SHARPERS 

WHO  THEY  WERE. 

ONE  evening  as  Candide,  with  his  attendant  Mar- 
tin, was  going  to  sit  down  to  supper  with  some  for- 
eigners who  lodged  in  the  same  inn  where  they  had 
taken  up  their  quarters,  a  man  with  a  face  the  color 
of  soot  came  behind  him,  and  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  said,  "Hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  go  along 
with  us ;  be  sure  you  do  not  fail."  Upon  this,  turn- 
ing about  to  see  from  whom  these  words  came,  he 
beheld  Cacambo.  Nothing  but  the  sight  of  Miss 
Cunegund  could  have  given  him  greater  joy  and 
surprise.  He  was  almost  beside  himself.  After 
embracing  this  dear  friend,  "Cunegund!"  said  he, 
"Cunegund  is  come  with  you  doubtless!  Where, 
where  is  she?  Carry  me  to  her  this  instant,  that  I 
may  die  with  joy  in  her  presence."  "Cunegund  is 


i86  Cancfide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

not  here,"  answered  Cacambo;  "she  is  in  Constan- 
tinople." "Good  heavens!  in  Constantinople!  but 
no  matter  if  she  were  in  China,  I  would  fly  thither. 
Quick,  quick,  dear  Cacambo,  let  us  be  gone."  "Soft 
and  fair,"  said  Cacambo,  "stay  till  you  have  supped. 
I  cannot  at  present  stay  to  say  anything  more  to 
you ;  I  am  a  slave,  and  my  master  waits  for  me ;  I 
must  go  and  attend  him  at  table :  but  mum !  say  not 
a  word,  only  get  your  supper,  and  hold  yourself  in 
readiness." 

Candide,  divided  between  joy  and  grief,  charmed 
to  have  thus  met  with  his  faithful  agent  again,  and 
surprised  to  hear  he  was  a  slave,  his  heart  palpitat- 
ing, his  senses  confused,  but  full  of  the  hopes  of  re- 
covering his  dear  Cunegund,  sat  down  to  table  with 
Martin,  who  beheld  all  these  scenes  with  great  un- 
concern, and  with  six  strangers,  who  had  come  to 
spend  the  carnival  at  Venice. 

Cacambo  waited  at  table  upon  one  of  those 
strangers.  When  supper  was  nearly  over,  he  drew 
near  to  his  master,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Sire, 
your  majesty  may  go  when  you  please ;  the  ship  is 
ready" ;  and  so  saying  he  left  the  room.  The  guests, 
surprised  at  what  they  had  heard,  looked  at  each 
other  without  speaking  a  word ;  when  another  serv- 
ant drawing  near  to  his  master,  in  like  manner  said, 
"Sire,  your  majesty's  post-chaise  is  at  Padua,  and 
the  bark  is  ready."  The  master  made  him  a  sign, 
and  he  instantly  withdrew.  The  company  all  stared 
at  each  other  again,  and  the  general  astonishment 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  187 

was  increased.  A  third  servant  then  approached  an- 
other of  the  strangers,  and  said,  "Sire,  if  your  maj- 
esty will  be  advised  by  me,  you  will  not  make  any 
longer  stay  in  this  place ;  I  will  go  and  get  every- 
thing ready" ;  and  instantly  disappeared. 

Candide  and  Martin  then  took  it  for  granted  that 
this  was  some  of  the  diversions  of  the  carnival,  and 
that  these  were  characters  in  masquerade.  Then  a 
fourth  domestic  said  to  the  fourth  stranger,  "Your 
majesty  may  set  off  when  you  please;"  saying 
which,  he  went  away  like  the  rest.  A  fifth  valet 
said  the  same  to  a  fifth  master.  But  the  sixth  do- 
mestic spoke  in  a  different  style  to  the  person  on 
whom  he  waited,  and  who  sat  near  to  Candide. 
"Troth,  sir,"  said  he,  "they  will  trust  your  majesty 
no  longer,  nor  myself  neither ;  and  we  may  both  of 
us  chance  to  be  sent  to  jail  this  very  night;  and 
therefore  I  shall  take  care  of  myself,  and  so  adieu." 
The  servants  being  all  gone,  the  six  strangers,  with 
Candide  and  Martin,  remained  in  a  profound  si- 
lence. At  length  Candide  broke  it  by  saying,  "Gen- 
tlemen, this  is  a  very  singular  joke  upon  my  word; 
how  came  you  all  to  be  kings  ?  For  my  part  I  own 
frankly,  that  neither  my  friend  Martin  here,  nor 
myself,  have  any  claim  to  royalty." 

Cacambo's  master  then  began,  with  great  gravity, 
to  deliver  himself  thus  in  Italian.  "I  am  not  joking 
in  the  least,  my  name  is  Achmet  III.  I  was  grand 
seignor  for  many  years;  I  dethroned  my  brother, 
my  nephew  dethroned  me,  my  viziers  lost  their 


1 88  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

heads,  and  I  am  condemned  to  end  my  days  in  the 
old  seraglio.  My  nephew,  the  Grand  Sultan  Ma- 
homet, gives  me  permission  to  travel  sometimes  for 
my  health,  and  I  am  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at 
Venice." 

A  young  man  who  sat  by  Achmet,  spoke  next, 
and  said :  "My  name  is  Ivan.  I  was  once  emperor 
of  all  the  Russias,  but  was  dethroned  in  my  cradle. 
My  parents  were  confined,  and  I  was  brought  up 
in  a  prison,  yet  I  am  sometimes  allowed  to  travel, 
though  always  with  persons  to  keep  a  guard  over 
me,  and  I  am  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venice." 

The  third  said :  "I  am  Charles  Edward,  king  of 
England ;  my  father  has  renounced  his  right  to  the 
throne  in  my  favor.  I  have  fought  in  defence  of 
my  rights,  and  near  a  thousand  of  my  friends  have 
had  their  hearts  taken  out  of  their  bodies  alive  and 
thrown  in  their  faces.  I  have  myself  been  confined 
in  a  prison.  I  am  going  to  Rome  to  visit  the  king 
my  father,  who  was  dethroned  as  well  as  myself; 
and  my  grandfather  and  I  have  come  to  spend  the 
carnival  at  Venice." 

The  fourth  spoke  thus:  "I  am  the  king  of  Po- 
land ;  the  fortune  of  war  has  stripped  me  of  my 
hereditary  dominions.  My  father  experienced  the 
same  vicissitudes  of  fate.  I  resign  myself  to  the 
will  of  Providence,  in  the  same  manner  as  Sultan 
Achmet,  the  Emperor  Ivan,  and  King  Charles  Ed- 
ward, wThom  God  long  preserve;  and  I  have  come 
to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venire  " 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.  189 

The  fifth  said :  "I  am  king  of  Poland  also.  I 
have  twice  lost  my  kingdom ;  but  Providence  has 
given  me  other  dominions,  where  I  have  done  more 
good  than  all  the  Sarmatian  kings  put  together  were 
ever  able  to  do  on  the  banks  of  the  Vistula ;  I  resign 
myself  likewise  to  Providence;  and  have  come  to 
spend  the  carnival  at  Venice." 

It  now  came  to  the  sixth  monarch's  turn  to 
speak :  "Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I  am  not  so  great  a 
prince  as  the  rest  of  you,  it  is  true,  but  I  am,  how- 
ever, a  crowned  head.  I  am  Theodore,*  elected  king 
of  Corsica.  I  have  had  the  title  of  majesty,  and  am 
now  hardly  treated  with  common  civility.  I  have 
coined  money,  and  am  not  now  worth  a  single  ducat. 

*This  remarkable  personage,  after  having  lain  in  the 
common  prison  of  the  king's  oench,  for  a  paltry  debt,  was 
cleared  by  an  act  of  parliament,  passed  for  the  relief  of  in- 
solvent debtors;  and  the  schedule  of  his  effects,  delivered 
for  the  benefit  of  his  creditors,  contained  his  right  and 
pretensions  to  the  crown  of  Corsica.  He  died  at  London  in 
extreme  misery,  to  the  reproach  of  the  English  nation,  which 
had  at  one  time  acknowledged  him  as  a  sovereign  prince, 
and  their  ally. 

A  gentleman  caused  a  marble  to  be  erected  for  him  in 
St.  Anne's  churchyard,  with  the  following  inscription: 
Near  this  place  is  interred 
THEODORE,  king  of  Corsica, 
Who  died  in  this  parish,  Dec.  n,  1756, 
Immediately  after  leaving 
The  king's  bench  prison, 
By  the  benefit  of  the  act  of  insolvency: 

In  consequence  of  which, 

He  resigned  his  kingdom  of  Corsica 

For  the  use  of  his  creditors. 

The  grave,  great  teacher,  to  a  level  brings 
Heroes  and  begg_ars,  galley-slaves  and  kings; 
But  Theodore  this  moral  learned  ere  dead; 
Fate  poured  its  lessons  on  his  living  head, 
Bestowed  a  kingdom,  and  denied  him  bread. 


190  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

I  have  had  two  secretaries,  and  am  now  without  a 
valet.  I  was  once  seated  on  a  throne,  and  since  that 
have  lain  upon  a  truss  of  straw,  in  a  common  jail  in 
London,  and  I  very  much  fear  I  shall  meet  with 
the  same  fate  here  in  Venice,  where  I  came,  like 
your  majesties,  to  divert  myself  at  the  carnival." 

The  other  five  kings  listened  to  this  speech  with 
great  attention ;  it  excited  their  compassion ;  each 
of  them  made  the  unhappy  Theodore  a  present  of 
twenty  sequins,  and  Candide  gave  him  a  diamond, 
worth  just  a  hundred  times  that  sum.  "Who  can 
this  private  person  be,"  said  the  five  princes  to  one 
another,  "who  is  able  to  give,  and  has  actually  given, 
a  hundred  times  as  much  as  any  of  us?" 

Just  as  they  rose  from  table,  in  came  four  serene 
highnesses,  who  had  also  been  stripped  of  their  ter- 
ritories by  the  fortune  of  war,  and  had  come  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  the  carnival  at  Venice.  Can- 
dide took  no  manner  of  notice  of  them;  for  his 
thoughts  were  wholly  employed  on  his  voyage  to 
Constantinople,  where  he  intended  to  go  in  search 
of  his  lovely  Miss  Cunegund. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
CANDIDE'S  VOYAGE  TO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

THE  trusty  Cacambo  had  already  engaged  the 
captain  of  the  Turkish  ship  that  was  to  cam-  Sultan 
Achmet  back  to  Constantinople,  to  take  Candide  and 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          191 

Martin  on  board.  Accordingly  they  both  embarked, 
after  paying  their  obeisance  to  his  miserable  high- 
ness. As  they  were  going  on  board,  Candide  said 
to  Martin,  "You  see  we  supped  in  company  with  six 
dethroned  kings,  and  to  one  of  them  I  gave  charity. 
Perhaps  there  may  be  a  great  many  other  princes 
still  more  unfortunate.  For  my  part  I  have  lost  only 
a  hundred  sheep,  and  am  now  going  to  fly  to  the 
arms  of  my  charming  Miss  Cunegund.  My  dear 
Martin,  I  must  insist  on  it,  that  Pangloss  was  in  the 
right.  All  is  for  the  best."  "I  wish  it  may  be,"  said 
Martin.  "But  this  was  an  odd  adventure  we  met 
with  at  Venice.  I  do  not  think  there  ever  was  an 
instance  before  of  six  dethroned  monarchs  supping 
together  at  a  public  inn."  "This  is  not  more  extra- 
ordinary," said  Martin,  "than  most  of  what  has  hap- 
pened to  us.  It  is  a  very  common  thing  for  kings 
to  be  dethroned ;  and  as  for  our  having  the  honor  to 
sup  with  six  of  them,  it  is  a  mere  accident,  not  de- 
serving our  attention." 

As  soon  as  Candide  set  his  foot  on  board  the 
vessel,  he  flew  to  his  old  friend  and  valet  Cacambo ; 
and  throwing  his  arms  about  his  neck,  embraced  him 
with  transports  of  joy.  "Well,"  said  he,  "what  news 
of  Miss  Cunegund?  Does  she  still  continue  the 
paragon  of  beauty  ?  Does  she  love  me  still  ?  How 
does  she  do?  You  have,  doubtless,  purchased  a 
superb  palace  for  her  at  Constantinople." 

"My  dear  master,"  replied  Cacambo,  "Miss  Cune- 
gund washes  dishes  on  the  banks  of  the  Propontis, 


192  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

in  the  house  of  a  prince  who  has  very  few  to  wash. 
She  is  at  present  a  slave  in  the  family  of  an  ancient 
sovereign  named  Ragotsky,  whom  the  grand  Turk 
allows  three  crowns  a  day  to  maintain  him  in  his 
exile;  but  the  most  melancholy  circumstance  of  all 
is,  that  she  is  turned  horribly  ugly."  "Ugly  or 
handsome,"  said  Candide,  "I  am  a  man  of  honor; 
and,  as  such,  am  obliged  to  love  her  still.  But  how 
could  she  possibly  have  been  reduced  to  so  abject  a 
condition,  when  I  sent  five  or  six  millions  to  her  by 
you?"  "Lord  bless  me,"  said  Cacambo,  "was  not  I 
obliged  to  give  two  millions  to  Seignor  Don  Fer- 
nando d'Ibaraa  y  Fagueora  y  Mascarenes  y  Lam- 
pourdos  y  Souza,  the  governor  of  Buenos  Ayres, 
for  liberty  to  take  Miss  Cunegund  away  with  me? 
and  then  did  not  a  brave  fellow  of  a  pirate  gallantly 
strip  us  of  all  the  rest  ?  And  then  did  not  this  same 
pirate  carry  us  with  him  to  Cape  Matapan,  to  Milo, 
to  Nicaria,  to  Samos,  to  Petra,  to  the  Dardanelles, 
to  Marmora,  to  Scutari?  Miss  Cunegund  and  the 
old  woman  are  now  servants  to  the  prince  I  have 
told  you  of ;  and  I  myself  am  slave  to  the  dethroned 
sultan."  "What  a  chain  of  shocking  accidents !"  ex- 
claimed Candide.  "But  after  all,  I  have  still  some 
diamonds  left,  with  which  I  can  easily  procure  Miss 
Cunegund's  liberty.  It  is  a  pity  though  she  is  grown 
so  ugly." 

Then  turning  to  Martin,  "What  think  you, 
friend,"  said  he,  "whose  condition  is  most  to  be 
pitied,  the  Emperor  Achmet's  the  Emperor  Ivan's, 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          193 

King  Charles  Edward's,  or  mine?"  "Faith,  I  cannot 
resolve  your  question,"  said  Martin,  "unless  I  had 
been  in  the  breasts  of  you  all."  "Ah!"  cried  Can- 
dide, "was  Pangloss  here  new,  he  would  have 
known,  and  satisfied  me  at  once."  "I  know  not," 
said  Martin,  "in  what  balance  your  Pangloss  could 
have  weighed  the  misfortunes  of  mankind,  and  have 
set  a  just  estimation  on  their  sufferings.  All  that  I 
pretend  to  know  of  the  matter  is  that  there  are  mil- 
lions of  men  on  the  earth,  whose  conditions  are  a 
hundred  times  more  pitiable  than  those  of  King 
Charles  Edward,  the  Emperor  Ivan,  or  Sultan  Ach- 
met."  "Why,  that  may  be,"  answered  Candide. 

In  a  few  days  they  reached  the  Bosphorus ;  and 
the  first  thing  Candide  did  was  to  pay  a  high  ransom 
for  Cacambo :  then,  without  losing  time,  he  and  his 
companions  went  on  board  a  galley,  in  order  to 
search  for  his  Cunegund  on  the  banks  of  the  Pro- 
pontis,  notwithstanding  she  was  grown  so  ugly. 

There  were  two  slaves  among  the  crew  of  the 
galley,  who  rowed  very  ill,  and  to  whose  bare  backs 
the  master  of  the  vessel  frequently  applied  a  lash. 
Candide,  from  natural  sympathy,  looked  at  these  two 
slaves  more  attentively  than  at  any  of  the  rest,  and 
drew  near  them  with  an  eye  of  pity.  Their  features, 
though  greatly  disfigured,  appeared  to  him  to  bear  a 
strong  resemblance  with  those  of  Pangloss  and  the 
unhappy  baron  Jesuit,  Miss  Cunegund's  brother. 
This  idea  affected  him  with  grief  and  compassion : 

he  examined  them  more  attentively  than  before.  "In 
Vol.  i — 13 


1 94          Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

troth,"  said  he,  turning  to  Martin,  "if  I  had  not 
seen  my  master  Pangloss  fairly  hanged,  and  had  not 
myself  been  unlucky  enough  to  run  the  baron 
through  the  body,  I  should  absolutely  think  those 
two  rowers  were  the  men." 

No  sooner  had  Candide  uttered  the  names  of  the 
baron  and  Pangloss,  than  the  two  slaves  gave  a  great 
cry,  ceased  rowing,  and  let  fall  their  oars  out  of 
their  hands.  The  master  of  the  vessel,  seeing  this, 
ran  up  to  them,  and  redoubled  the  discipline  of  the 
lash.  "Hold,  hold,"  cried  Candide,  "I  will  give  you 
what  money  you  shall  ask  for  these  two  persons." 
"Good  heavens !  it  is  Candide,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
"Candide!"  cried  the  other.  "Do  I  dream,"  said 
Candide,  "or  am  I  awake?  Am  I  actually  on  board 
this  galley?  Is  this  my  lord  baron,  whom  I  killed? 
and  that  my  master  Pangloss,  whom  I  saw  hanged 
before  my  face?" 

"It  is  I !  it  is  I !"  cried  they  both  together.  "What ! 
is  this  your  great  philosopher?"  said  Martin.  "My 
dear  sir,"  said  Candide  to  the  master  of  the  galley, 
"how  much  do  you  ask  for  the  ransom  of  the  baron 
of  Thunder-ten  tronckh,  who  is  one  of  the  first 
barons  of  the  empire,  and  of  Mr.  Pangloss,  the  most 
profound  metaphysician  in  Germany  ?"  "Why,  then, 
Christian  cur,"  replied  the  Turkish  captain,  "since 
these  two  dogs  of  Christian  slaves  are  barons  and 
metaphysicians,  who  no  doubt  are  of  high  rank  i», 
their  own  country,  thou  shalt  give  me  fifty  thousand 
sequins."  "You  shall  have  them,  sir ;  carry  me  back 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.  195 

as  quick  as  thought  to  Constantinople,  and  you  shall 
receive  the  money  immediately — No !  carry  me  first 
to  Miss  Cunegund."  The  captain,  upon  Candide's 
first  proposal,  had  already  tacked  about,  and  he 
made  the  crew  ply  their  oars  so  effectually,  that  the 
vessel  flew  through  the  water,  quicker  than  a  bird 
cleaves  the  air. 

Candide  bestowed  a  thousand  embraces  on  the 
baron  and  Pangloss.  "And  so  then,  my  dear  baron, 
I  did  not  kill  you  ?  and  you,  my  dear  Pangloss,  are 
come  to  life  again  after  your  hanging?  But  how 
came  you  slaves  on  board  a  Turkish  galley  ?"  "And 
is  it  true  that  my  dear  sister  is  in  this  country  ?"  said 
the  baron.  "Yes,"  said  Cacambo.  "And  do  I  once 
again  behold  my  dear  Candide?"  said  Pangloss. 
Candide  presented  Martin  and  Cacambo  to  them ; 
they  embraced  each  other,  and  all  spoke  together. 
The  galley  flew  like  lightning,  and  soon  they  were 
got  back  to  port.  Candide  instantly  sent  for  a  Jew, 
to  whom  he  sold  for  fifty  thousand  sequins  a  dia- 
mond richly  worth  one  hundred  thousand,  though 
the  fellow  swore  to  him  all  the  time  by  Father  Abra- 
ham that  he  gave  him  the  most  he  could  possibly 
afford.  He  no  sooner  got  the  money  into  his  hands, 
than  he  paid  it  clown  for  the  ransom  of  the  baron 
and  Pangloss.  The  latter  flung  himself  at  the  feet 
of  his  deliverer,  and  bathed  him  with  his  tears :  the 
former  thanked  him  with  a  gracious  nod,  and  prom- 
ised to  return  him  the  money  the  first  opportunity. 
"But  is  it  possible,"  said  he,  "that  my  sister  should 


196  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

be  in  Turkey?"  "Nothing  is  more  possible,"  an- 
swered Cacambo,  "for  she  scours  the  dishes  in  the 
house  of  a  Transylvanian  prince."  Candide  sent  di- 
rectly for  two  Jews,  and  sold  more  diamonds  to 
them ;  and  then  he  set  out  with  his  companions  in 
another  galley,  to  deliver  Miss  Cunegund  from 
slavery. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

WHAT      BEFELL      CANDIDE,       CUNEGUND,      PANGLOSS, 
MARTIN,    ETC. 

"PARDON,"  said  Candide  to  the  baron;  "once 
more  let  me  entreat  your  pardon,  reverend  father, 
for  running  you  through  the  body."  "Say  no  more 
about  it,"  replied  the  baron ;  "I  was  a  little  too  hasty 
I  must  own ;  but  as  you  seem  to  be  desirous  to  know 
by  what  accident  I  came  to  be  a  slave  on  board  the 
galley  where  you  saw  me,  I  will  inform  you.  After 
I  had  been  cured  of  the  wound  you  gave  me,  by  the 
college  apothecary,  I  was  attacked  and  carried  off 
by  a  party  of  Spanish  troops,  who  clapped  me  in 
prison  in  Buenos  Ayres,  at  the  very  time  my  sister 
was  setting  out  from  there.  I  asked  leave  to  return 
to  Rome,  to  the  general  of  my  order,  who  appointed 
me  chaplain  to  the  French  ambassador  at  Constan- 
tinople. I  had  not  been  a  week  in  my  new  office, 
when  I  happened  to  meet  one  evening  with  a  young 
Icoglan,  extremely  handsome  and  well  made.  The 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          197 

weather  was  very  hot;  the  young  man  had  an  in- 
clination to  bathe.  I  took  the  opportunity  to  bathe 
likewise.  I  did  not  know  it  was  a  crime  for  a  Chris- 
tian to  be  found  naked  in  company  with  a  young 
Turk.  A  cadi  ordered  me  to  receive  a  hundred 
blows  on  the  soles  of  my  feet,  and  sent  me  to  the 
galleys.  I  do  not  believe  that  there  was  ever  an  act 
of  more  flagrant  injustice.  But  I  would  fain  know 
how  my  sister  came  to  be  a  scullion  to  a  Transylva- 
nian  prince,  who  has  taken  refuge  among  the 
Turks?" 

"But  how  happens  it  that  I  behold  you  again,  my 
dear  Pangloss?"  said  Candide.  "It  is  true,"  an- 
swered Pangloss,  "you  saw  me  hanged,  though  I 
ought  properly  to  have  been  burned ;  but  you  may 
remember,  that  it  rained  extremely  hard  when  they 
were  going  to  roast  me.  The  storm  was  so  violent 
that  they  found  it  impossible  to  light  the  fire ;  so  they 
hanged  me  because  they  could  do  no  better.  A  sur- 
geon purchased  my  body,  carried  it  home,  and  pre- 
pared to  dissect  me.  He  began  by  making  a  crucial 
incision  from  my  navel  to  the  clavicle.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  anyone  to  have  been  more  lamely  hanged 
than  I  had  been.  The  executioner  was  a  subdeacon, 
and  knew  how  to  burn  people  very  well,  but  as  for 
hanging,  he  was  a  novice  at  it,  being  quite  out  of 
practice ;  the  cord  being  wet,  and  not  slipping  prop- 
erly, the  noose  did  not  join.  In  short,  I  still  con- 
tinued to  breathe ;  the  crucial  incision  made  me 
scream  to  such  a  degree,  that  my  surgeon  fell  flat 


198  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

upon  his  back;  and  imagining  it  was  the  devil  he 
was  dissecting,  ran  away,  and  in  his  fright  tumbled 
down  stairs.  His  wife  hearing  the  noise,  flew  from 
the  next  room,  and  seeing  me  stretched  upon  the 
table  with  my  crucial  incision,  was  still  more  terri- 
fied than  her  husband,  and  fell  upon  him.  When 
they  had  a  little  recovered  themselves,  I  heard  her 
say  to  her  husband,  'My  dear,  how  could  you  think 
of  dissecting  a  heretic?  Don't  you  know  that  the 
devil  is  always  in  them?  I'll  run  directly  to  a  priest 
to  come  and  drive  the  evil  spirit  out/  I  trembled 
from  head  to  foot  at  hearing  her  talk  in  this  manner, 
and  exerted  what  little  strength  I  had  left  to  cry  out, 
'Have  mercy  on  me!'  At  length  the  Portuguese 
barber  took  courage,  sewed  up  my  wound,  and  his 
wife  nursed  me ;  and  I  was  upon  my  legs  in  a  fort- 
night's time.  The  barber  got  me  a  place  to  be  lackey 
to  a  knight  of  Malta,  who  was  going  to  Venice ;  but 
finding  my  master  had  no  money  to  pay  me  my 
wages,  I  entered  into  the  service  of  a  Venetian  mer- 
chant, and  went  with  him  to  Constantinople. 

"One  day  I  happened  to  enter  a  mosque,  where  I 
saw  no  one  but  an  old  man  and  a  very  pretty  young 
female  devotee,  who  was  telling  her  beads ;  her  neck 
was  quite  bare,  and  in  her  bosom  she  had  a  beau- 
tiful nosegay  of  tulips,  roses,  anemones,  ranuncu- 
luses, hyacinths,  and  auriculas ;  she  let  fall  her  nose- 
gay. I  ran  immediately  to  take  it  up,  and  presented 
it  to  her  with  a  most  respectful  bow.  I  was  so  long 
in  delivering  it  that  the  imam  began  to  be  angry; 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.  199 

and,  perceiving  I  was  a  Christian,  he  cried  out  for 
help;  they  carried  me  before  the  cadi,  who  ordered 
me  to  receive  one  hundred  bastinadoes,  and  sent  me 
to  the  galleys.  I  was  chained  in  the  very  galley  and 
to  the  very  same  bench  with  the  baron.  On  board 
this  galley  there  were  four  young  men  belonging  to 
Marseilles,  five  Neapolitan  priests,  and  two  monks 
of  Corfu,  who  told  us  that  the  like  adventures  hap- 
pened every  day.  The  baron  pretended  that  he  had 
been  worse  used  than  myself;  and  I  insisted  that 
there  was  far  less  harm  in  taking  up  a  nosegay,  and 
putting  it  into  a  woman's  bosom,  than  to  be  found 
stark  naked  with  a  young  Icoglan.  We  were  con- 
tinually whipped,  and  received  twenty  lashes  a  day 
with  a  heavy  thong,  when  the  concatenation  of  sub- 
lunary events  brought  you  on  board  our  galley  to 
ransom  us  from  slavery." 

"Well,  my  dear  Pangloss,"  said  Candide  to  him, 
"when  you  were  hanged,  dissected,  whipped,  and 
tugging  at  the  oar,  did  you  continue  to  think  that 
everything  in  this  world  happens  for  the  best?"  "I 
have  always  abided  by  my  first  opinion,"  answered 
Pangloss ;  "for,  after  all,  I  am  a  philosopher,  and  it 
would  not  become  me  to  retract  my  sentiments ;  es- 
pecially as  Leibnitz  could  not  be  in  the  wrong:  and 
that  pre-established  harmony  is  the  finest  thing  in 
the  world,  as  well  as  a  plenum  and  the  matcria  sub- 
tilis." 


2oo  Candidc;  or,  The  Optimist. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  WHAT  MANNER  CANDIDE  FOUND  MISS  CUNEGUND 
AND  THE  OLD  WOMAN   AGAIN. 

WHILE  Candide,  the  baron,  Pangloss,  Martin, 
and  Cacambo,  were  relating  their  several  adventures, 
and  reasoning  on  the  contingent  or  non-contingent 
events  of  this  world ;  on  causes  and  effects  ;  on  moral 
and  physical  evil;  on  free  will  and  necessity;  and 
on  the  consolation  that  may  be  felt  by  a  person  when 
a  slave  and  chained  to  an  oar  in  a  Turkish  galley, 
they  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  Transylvanian 
prince  on  the  coasts  of  the  Propontis.  The  first  ob- 
jects they  beheld  there,  were  Miss  Cunegund  and 
the  old  woman,  who  were  hanging  some  t&blecloths 
on  a  line  to  dry. 

The  baron  turned  pale  at  the  sight.  Even  the. 
tender  Candide,  that  affectionate  lover,  upon  seeing 
his  fair  Cunegund  all  sunburnt,  with  blear  eyes,  a 
withered  neck,  wrinkled  face  and  arms,  all  covered 
with  a  red  scurf,  started  back  with  horror ;  but,  re- 
covering himself,  he  advanced  towards  her  out  of 
good  manners.  She  embraced  Candide  and  her 
brother;  they  embraced  the  old  woman,  and  Can- 
dide ransomed  them  both. 

There  was  a  small  farm  in  die  neighborhood, 
which  the  old  woman  proposed  to  Candide  to  make 
shift  with  till  the  company  shouid  meet  with  a  more 
favorable  destiny.  Cunegund,  not  knowing  that  she 
was  grown  ugly,  as  no  one  h&<l  informed  her  of  it, 


Candidc ;  or,  The  Optimist.          201 

reminded  Candide  of  his  promise  in  so  peremptory 
a  manner,  that  the  simple  lad  did  not  dare  to  refuse 
her ;  he  then  acquainted  the  baron  that  he  was  going 
to  marry  his  sister.  "I  will  never  suffer,"  said  the 
baron,  "my  sister  to  be  guilty  of  an  action  so  deroga- 
tory to  her  birth  and  family;  nor  will  I  bear  this 
insolence  on  your  part:  no,  I  never  will  be  re- 
proached that  my  nephews  are  not  qualified  for  the 
first  ecclesiastical  dignities  in  Germany ;  nor  shall  a 
sister  of  mine  ever  be  the  wife  of  any  person  below 
the  rank  of  a  baron  of  the  empire."  Cunegund  flung 
herself  at  her  brother's  feet,  and  bedewed  them  with 
her  tears ;  but  he  still  continued  inflexible.  "Thou 
foolish  fellow,"  said  Candide,  "have  I  not  delivered 
thee  from  the  galleys,  paid  thy  ransom,  and  thy  sis- 
ter's, too,  who  was  a  scullion,  and  is  very  ugly,  and 
yet  condescend  to  marry  her?  and  shalt  thou  pre- 
tend to  oppose  the  match !  If  I  were  to  listen  only 
to  the  dictates  of  my  anger,  I  should  kill  thee  again." 
"Thou  mayest  kill  me  again,"  said  the  baron ;  "but 
thou  shalt  not  marry  my  sister  while  I  am  living." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

CANDIDE  had,  in  truth,  no  great  inclination  to 
marry  Miss  Cunegund;  but  the  extreme  imperti- 
nence of  the  baron  determined  him  to  conclude  the 
match ;  and  Cunegund  pressed  him  so  warmly,  that 


2O2  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

he  could  not  recant.  He  consulted  Pangloss,  Mar- 
tin, and  the  faithful  Cacambo.  Pangloss  composed 
a  fine  memorial,  by  which  he  proved  that  the  baron 
had  no  right  over  his  sister ;  and  that  she  might,  ac- 
cording to  all  the  laws  of  the  empire,  marry  Can- 
dide with  the  left  hand.  Martin  concluded  to  throw 
the  baron  into  the  sea;  Cacambo  decided  that  he 
must  be  delivered  to  the  Turkish  captain  and  sent  to 
the  galleys;  after  which  he  should  be  conveyed  by 
the  first  ship  to  the  father-general  at  Rome.  This 
advice  was  found  to  be  good ;  the  old  woman  ap- 
proved of  it,  and  not  a  syllable  was  said  to  his  sis- 
ter; the  business  was  executed  for  a  little  money; 
and  they  had  the  pleasure  of  tricking  a  Jesuit,  and 
punishing  the  pride  of  a  German  baron. 

It  was  altogether  natural  to  imagine,  that  after 
undergoing  so  many  disasters,  Candide,  married  to 
his  mistress  and  living  with  the  philosopher  Pan- 
gloss,  the  philosopher  Martin,  the  prudent  Cacambo, 
and  the  old  woman,  having  besides  brought  home  so 
many  diamonds  from  the  country  of  the  ancient 
Incas,  would  lead  the  most  agreeable  life  in  the 
world.  But  he  had  been  so  robbed  by  the  Jews,  that 
he  had  nothing  left  but  his  little  farm;  his  wife, 
every  day  growing  more  and  more  ugly,  became 
headstrong  and  insupportable;  the  old  woman  was 
infirm,  and  more  ill-natured  yet  than  Cunegund. 
Cacambo,  who  worked  in  the  garden,  and  carried  the 
produce  of  it  to  sell  at  Constantinople,  was  above 
his  labor,  and  cursed  his  fate.  Pangloss  despaired 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          203 

of  making  a  figure  in  any  of  the  German  univer- 
sities. And  as  to  Martin,  he  was  firmly  persuaded 
that  a  person  is  equally  ill-situated  everywhere.  He 
took  things  with  patience.  Candide,  Martin,  and 
Pangloss,  disputed  sometimes  about  metaphysics  and 
morality.  Boats  were  often  seen  passing  under  the 
windows  of  the  farm  laden  with  effendis,  bashaws, 
and  cadis,  that  were  going  into  banishment  to  Lem- 
nos,  Mytilene  and  Erzerum.  And  other  cadis, 
bashaws,  and  effendis,  were  seen  coming  back  to 
succeed  the  place  of  the  exiles,  and  were  driven  out 
in  their  turns.  They  saw  several  heads  curiously 
stuck  upon  poles,  and  carried  as  presents  to  the  sub- 
lime porte.  Such  sights  gave  occasion  to  frequent 
dissertations ;  and  when  no  disputes  were  in  prog- 
ress, the  irksomeness  was  so  excessive  that  the  old 
woman  ventured  one  'day  to  tell  them,  "I  would  be 
glad  to  know  which  is  worst,  to  be  ravished  a  hun- 
dred times  by  negro  pirates,  to  have  one  buttock 
cut  off,  to  run  the  gauntlet  among  the  Bulgarians,  to 
be  whipped  and  hanged  at  an  auto-da-fc,  to  be  dis- 
sected, to  be  chained  to  an  oar  in  a  galley ;  and,  in 
short,  to  experience  all  the  miseries  through  which 
every  one  of  us  hath  passed,  or  to  remain  here  doing 
nothing?"  "This,"  said  Candide,  "is  a  grand  ques- 
tion." 

This  discourse  gave  birth  to  new  reflections,  and 
Martin  especially  concluded  that  man  was  born  to 
Itve  in  the  convulsions  of  disquiet,  or  in  the  lethargy 
of  idleness.  Though  Candide  did  not  absolutely 


204  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

agree  to  this,  yet  he  did  not  determine  anything  on 
that  head.  Pangloss  avowed  that  he  had  undergone 
dreadful  sufferings;  but  having  once  maintained 
that  everything  went  on  as  well  as  possible,  he  still 
maintained  it,  and  at  the  same  time  believed  nothing 
of  it. 

There  was  one  thing  which  more  than  ever  con- 
firmed Martin  in  his  detestable  principles,  made 
Candide  hesitate,  and  embarrassed  Pangloss,  which 
was  the  arrival  of  Pacquette  and  Brother  Giroflee 
one  day  at  their  farm.  This  couple  had  been  in  the 
utmost  distress ;  they  had  very  speedily  made  away 
with  their  three  thousand  piastres ;  they  had  parted, 
been  reconciled ;  quarrelled  again,  been  thrown  into 
prison;  had  made  their  escape,  and  at  last  Brother 
Giroflee  had  turned  Turk.  Pacquette  still  continued 
to  follow  her  trade ;  but  she  got  little  or  nothing  by 
it.  "I  foresaw  very  well,"  said  Martin  to  Candide, 
"that  your  presents  would  soon  be  squandered,  and 
only  make  them  more  miserable.  You  and  Cacambo 
have  spent  millions  of  piastres,  and  yet  you  are  not 
more  happy  than  Brother  Giroflee  and  Pacquette." 
"Ah !"  said  Pangloss  to  Pacquette,  "it  is  heaven  that 
has  brought  you  here  among  us,  my  poor  child !  Do 
you  know  that  you  have  cost  me  the  tip  of  my  nose, 
one  eye,  and  one  ear?  What  a  handsome  shape  is 
here !  and  what  is  this  world !"  This  new  adventure 
engaged  them  more  deeply  than  ever  in  philosoph- 
ical disputations. 

In  the  neighborhood  lived  a  famous  dervish  who 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.  205 

passed  for  the  best  philosopher  in  Turkey;  they 
went  to  consult  him:  Pangloss,  who  was  their 
spokesman,  addressed  him  thus:  "Master,  we  come 
to  entreat  you  to  tell  us  why  so  strange  an  animal  as 
man  has  been  formed  ?" 

"Why  do  you  trouble  your  head  about  it?"  said 
the  dervish;  "is  it  any  business  of  yours?"  "But, 
my  reverend  father,"  said  Candide,  "there  is  a  hor- 
rible deal  of  evil  on  the  earth."  "What  signifies  it," 
said  the  dervish,  "whether  there  is  evil  or  good? 
When  his  highness  sends  a  ship  to  Egypt  does  he 
trouble  his  head  whether  the  rats  in  the  vessel  are 
at  their  ease  or  not?"  "What  must  then  be  done?" 
said  Pangloss.  "Be  silent,"  answered  the  dervish. 
"I  flattered  myself,"  replied  Pangloss,  "to  have  rea- 
soned a  little  with  you  on  the  causes  and  effects,  on 
the  best  of  possible  worlds,  the  origin  of  evil,  the 
nature  of  the  soul,  and  a  pre-established  harmony." 
At  these  words  the  dervish  shut  the  door  in  their 
faces. 

During  this  conversation,  news  was  spread 
abroad  that  two  viziers  of  the  bench  and  the  mufti 
had  just  been  strangled  at  Constantinople,  and  sev- 
eral of  their  friends  empaled.  This  catastrophe  made 
a  great  noise  for  some  hours.  Pangloss,  Candide, 
and  Martin,  as  they  were  returning  to  the  little  farm, 
met  with  a  good-looking  old  man,  who  was  taking 
the  air  at  his  door,  under  an  alcove  formed  of  the 
boughs  of  orange-trees.  Pangloss,  who  was  as  in- 
quisitive as  he  was  disputative,  asked  him  what  was 


206  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  name  of  the  mufti  who  was  lately  strangled.  "I 
cannot  tell,"  answered  the  good  old  man ;  "I  never 
knew  the  name  of  any  mufti,  or  vizier  breathing.  I 
am  entirely  ignorant  of  the  event  you  speak  of;  I 
presume  that  in  general  such  as  are  concerned  in 
public  affairs  sometimes  come  to  a  miserable  end ; 
and  that  they  deserve  it :  but  I  never  inquire  what 
is  doing  at  Constantinople;  I  am  contented  with 
sending  thither  the  produce  of  my  garden,  which  I 
cultivate  with  my  own  hands."  After  saying  these 
words,  he  invited  the  strangers  to  come  into  his 
house.  His  two  daughters  and  two  sons  presented 
them  with  divers  sorts  of  sherbet  of  their  own  mak- 
ing; besides  caymac,  heightened  with  the  peels  of 
candied  citrons,  oranges,  lemons,  pineapples,  pista- 
chio nuts,  and  Mocha  coffee  unadulterated  with  the 
bad  coffee  of  Batavia  or  the  American  islands.  After 
which  the  two  daughters  of  this  good  Mussulman 
perfumed  the  beards  of  Candide,  Pangloss,  and 
Martin. 

"You  must  certainly  have  a  vast  estate,"  said 
Candide  to  the  Turk ;  who  replied,  "I  have  no  more 
than  twenty  acres  of  ground,  the  whole  of  which  I 
cultivate  myself  with  the  help  of  my  children ;  and 
our  labor  keeps  off  from  us  three  great  evils — idle- 
ness, vice,  and  want." 

Candide,  as  he  was  returning  home,  made  pro- 
found reflections  on  the  Turk's  discourse.  "This 
good  old  man,"  said  he  to  Pangloss  and  Martin,  "ap- 
pears to  me  to  have  chosen  for  himself  a  lot  much 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          207 

preferable  to  that  of  the  six  kings  with  whom  we 
had  the  honor  to  sup."  "Human  grandeur,"  said 
Pangloss,  "is  very  dangerous,  if  we  believe  the  tes- 
timonies of  almost  all  philosophers;  for  we  find 
Eglon,  king  of  Moab,  was  assassinated  by  Aod ;  Ab- 
salom was  hanged  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  and  run 
through  with  three  darts ;  King  Nadab,  son  of  Jero- 
boam, was  slain  by  Baaza;  King  Ela  by  Zimri; 
Okosias  by  Jehu ;  Athaliah  by  Jehoiada ;  the  kings 
Jehooiakim,  Jeconiah,  and  Zedekiah,  were  led  into 
captivity :  I  need  not  tell  you  what  was  the  fate  of 
Croesus,  Astyages,  Darius,  Dionysius  of  Syracuse, 
Pyrrhus,  Perseus,  Hannibal,  Jugurtha,  Ariovistus, 
Caesar,  Pompey,  Nero,  Otho,  Vitellius,  Domitian, 
Richard  II.  of  England,  Edward  II.,  Henry  VI., 
Richard  III.,  Mary  Stuart,  Charles  I.,  the  three 
Henrys  of  France,  and  the  emperor  Henry  IV." 
"Neither  need  you  tell  me,"  said  Candide,  "that  we 
must  take  care  of  our  garden."  "You  are  in  the 
right,"  said  Pangloss ;  "for  when  man  was  put  into 
the  garden  of  Eden,  it  was  with  an  intent  to  dress  - 
it :  and  this  proves  that  man  was  not  born  to  be  idle." 
"Work  then  without  disputing,"  said  Martin ;  "it  is 
the  only  way  to  render  life  supportable." 

The  little  society,  one  and  all,  entered  into  this 
laudable  design ;  and  set  themselves  to  exert  their 
different  talents.  The  little  piece  of  ground  yielded 
them  a  plentiful  crop.  Cunegund  indeed  was  very 
ugly,  but  she  became  an  excellent  hand  at  pastry- 
work  ;  Pacquette  embroidered ;  the  old  woman  had 


208  Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

the  care  of  the  linen.  There  was  none,  down  to 
Brother  Giroflee,  but  did  some  service;  he  was  a 
very  good  carpenter,  and  became  an  honest  man. 
Pangloss  used  now  and  then  to  say  to  Candide, 
"There  is  a  concatenation  of  all  events  in  the  best  of 
possible  worlds;  for,  in  short,  had  you  not  been 
kicked  out  of  a  fine  castle  for  the  love  of  Miss  Cune- 
gund ;  had  you  not  been  put  into  the  Inquisition ; 
had  you  not  travelled  over  America  on  foot;  had 
you  not  run  the  baron  through  the  body ;  and  had 
you  not  lost  all  your  sheep,  which  you  brought  from 
the  good  country  of  El  Dorado,  you  would  not  have 
been  here  to  eat  preserved  citrons  and  pistachio 
nuts."  "Excellently  observed,"  answered  Candide; 
"but  let  us  take  care  of  our  garden." 


CANDIDE;  OR,  THE  OPTIMIST. 
PART  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  CANDIDE  QUITTED  HIS  COMPANIONS,  AND  WHAT 
HAPPENED  TO   HIM. 

WE  SOON  become  tired  of  everything  in  life; 
riches  fatigue  the  possessor;  ambition,  when  satis- 
fied, leaves  only  remorse  behind  it ;  the  joys  of  love 
are  but  transient  joys;  and  Candide,  made  to  ex- 
perience all  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  was  soon 
disgusted  with  cultivating  his  garden.  "Mr.  Pan- 
gloss,"  said  he,  "if  we  are  in  the  best  of  possible 
worlds,  you  will  own  to  me,  at  least,  that  this  is  not 
enjoying  that  portion  of  possible  happiness ;  but  liv- 
ing obscure  in  a  little  corner  of  the  Propontis,  hav- 
ing no  other  resource  than  that  of  my  own  manual 
labor,  which  may  one  day  fail  me;  no  other 
pleasures  than  what  Mrs.  Cunegund  gives  me,  who 
is  very  ugly;  and,  which  is  worse,  is  my  wife;  no 
other  company  than  yours,  which  is  sometimes  irk- 
some to  me;  or  that  of  Martin,  which  makes  me 
melancholy;  or  that  of  Giroflee,  who  is  but  very 
lately  become  an  honest  man ;  or  that  of  Pacquette, 
the  danger  of  whose  correspondence  you  have  so 
fully  experienced ;  or  that  of  the  hag  who  has  but 
Vol.  1  —  14  209 


2io          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

one  buttock,  and  is  constantly  repeating  old  wives' 
tales. 

To  this  Pangloss  made  the  following  reply: 
"Philosophy  teaches  us  that  monads,  divisible  in  in- 
finitum,  arrange  themselves  with  wonderful  sagacity 
in  order  to  compose  the  different  bodies  which  we 
observe  in  nature.  The  heavenly  bodies  are  what 
they  should  be;  they  are  placed  where  they  should 
be;  they  describe  the  circles  which  they  should  de- 
scribe ;  man  follows  the  bent  he  should  follow ;  he  is 
what  he  should  be ;  he  does  what  he  should  do.  You 
bemoan  yourself,  O  Candide,  because  the  monad  of 
your  soul  is  disgusted ;  but  disgust  is  a  modification 
of  the  soul;  and  this  does  not  hinder,  but  every- 
thing is  for  the  best,  both  for  you  and  others.  When 
you  beheld  me  covered  with  sores,  I  did  not  main- 
tain my  opinion  the  less  for  that;  for  if  Miss  Pac- 
quette  had  not  made  me  taste  the  pleasures  of  love 
and  its  poison,  I  should  not  have  met  with  you  in 
Holland;  I  should  not  have  given  the  anabaptist 
James  an  opportunity  of  performing  a  meritorious 
act ;  I  should  not  have  been  hanged  in  Lisbon  for  the 
edification  of  my  neighbor ;  I  should  not  have  been 
here  to  assist  you  with  my  advice,  and  make  you 
live  and  die  in  Leibnitz's  opinion.  Yes,  my  dear 
Candide,  everything  is  linked  in  a  chain,  everything 
is  necessary  in  the  best  of  possible  worlds.  There 
is  a  necessity  that  the  burgher  of  Montauban  should 
instruct  kings ;  that  the  worm  of  Quimper-Corentin 
should  carp,  carp,  carp;  that  the  declaimer  against 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          211 

philosophers  should  occasion  his  own  crucifixion 
in  St.  Denis  street;  that  a  rascally  recollet  and  the 
archdeacon  of  St.  Malo  should  diffuse  their  gall  and 
calumny  through  their  Christian  journals ;  that  phi- 
losophy should  be  accused  at  the  tribunal  of  Mel- 
pomene; and  that  philosophers  should  continue  to 
enlighten  human  nature,  notwithstanding  the  croak- 
ings  of  ridiculous  animals  that  flounder  in  the 
marshes  of  learning ;  and  should  you  be  once  more 
driven  by  a  hearty  kicking  from  the  finest  of  all 
castles,  to  learn  again  your  exercise  among  the 
Bulgarians;  should  you  again  suffer  the  dirty 
effects  of  a  Dutchwoman's  zeal;  be  half  drowned 
again  before  Lisbon;  to  be  unmercifully  whipped 
again  by  order  of  the  most  holy  Inquisition ;  should 
you  run  the  same  risks  again  among  Los  Padres,  the 
Oreillons,  and  the  French ;  should  you,  in  short, 
suffer  every  possible  calamity  and  never  understand 
Leibnitz  better  than  I  myself  do,  you  will  still  main- 
tain that  all  is  well ;  that  all  is  for  the  best ;  that  a 
plenum,  the  materia  subtilis,  a  pre-established  har- 
mony, and  monads,  are  the  fines't  things  in  the 
world ;  and  that  Leibnitz  is  a  great  man,  even  to 
those  who  do  not  comprehend  him." 

To  this  fine  speech,  Candide,  the  mildest  being 
in  nature,  though  he  had  killed  three  men,  two  of 
whom  were  priests,  answered  not  a  word ;  but  weary 
of  the  doctor  and  his  society,  next  morning  at  break 
of  day,  taking  a  white  staff  in  his  hand,  marched 
off,  without  knowing  whither  he  was  going,  but  in 


212  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

quest  of  a  place  where  one  does  not  become  dis- 
gusted, and  where  men  are  not  men,  as  in  the  good 
country  of  El  Dorado. 

Candide,  so  much  the  less  unhappy  as  he  had  no 
longer  a  love  for  Miss  Cunegund,  living  upon  the 
bounty  of  different  people,  who  were  not  Christians, 
but  yet  give  alms,  arrived  after  a  very  long  and  very 
tiresome  journey,  at  Tauris,  upon  the  frontiers  of 
Persia,  a  city  noted  for  the  cruelties  which  the 
Turks  and  Persians  have  by  turns  exercised  therein. 

Half  dead  with  fatigue,  having  hardly  more 
clothes  than  what  were  necessary  to  cover  that  part 
which  constitutes  the  man,  and  which  men  call 
shameful,  Candide  could  not  well  relish  Pangloss' 
opinion  when  a  Persian  accosted  him  in  the  most 
polite  manner,  beseeching  him  to  ennoble  his  house 
with  his  presence.  ''You  make  a  jest  of  me,"  cried 
Candide  to  him;  "I  am  a  poor  devil  who  has  left  a 
miserable  dwelling  I  had  in  Propontis  because  I  had 
married  Miss  Cunegund ;  because  she  is  grown  very 
ugly,  and  because  I  was  disgusted ;  I  am  not,  in- 
deed, able  to  ennoble  anybody's  house;  I  am  not 
noble  myself,  thank  God.  If  I  had  the  honor  of 
being  so,  Baron  Thunder-ten-tronckh  should  have 
paid  very  dearly  for  the  kicks  on  the  backside  with 
which  he  favored  me,  or  I  should  have  died  of 
shame  for  it,  which  would  have  been  pretty  philo- 
sophical; besides,  I  have  been  whipped  ignomini- 
ously  by  the  executioners  of  the  most  holy  Inquisi- 
tion, and  by  two  thousand  heroes  at  three  pence 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          213 

halfpenny  a  day.  Give  me  what  you  please,  but  do 
not  insult  my  distress  with  taunts  which  would  de- 
prive you  of  the  whole  value  of  your  beneficence." 
"My  lord,"  replied  the  Persian,  "you  may  be  a 
beggar,  and  this  appears  pretty  plainly ;  but  my  re- 
ligion obliges  me  to  use  hospitality;  it  is  sufficient 
that  you  are  a  man  and  under  misfortunes ;  that  the 
apple  of  my  eye  should  be  the  path  for  your  feet ; 
vouchsafe  to  ennoble  my  house  with  your  radiant 
presence."  "I  will,  since  you  desire  it,"  answered 
Candide.  "Come  then,  enter,"  said  the  Persian. 
They  went  in  accordingly,  and  Candide  could  not 
forbear  admiring  the  respectful  treatment  shown 
him  by  his  host.  The  slaves  anticipated  his  desires ; 
the  whole  house  seemed  to  be  busied  in  nothing  but 
contributing  to  his  satisfaction.  "Should  this  last," 
said  Candide  to  himself,  "all  does  not  go  so  badly  in 
this  country."  Three  days  were  passed,  during 
which  time  the  kindness  of  the  Persian  still  con- 
tinued ;  and  Candide  already  cried  out :  "Master 
Pangloss,  I  always  imagined  you  were  in  the  right, 
for  you  are  a  great  philosopher." 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHAT    BEFELL    CANDIDE    IN    THIS    HOUSE — HOW    HE 
GOT  OUT  OF  IT. 

CANDIDE,  being  well  fed,  well  clothed,  and  free 
from  chagrin,  soon  became  again  as  ruddy,  as  fresh, 
and  as  gay  as  he  had  been  in  Westphalia.  His  host, 


214  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Ismael  Raab,  was  pleased  to  see  this  change;  he 
was  a  man  six  feet  high,  adorned  with  two  small 
eyes  extremely  red,  and  a  large  nose  full  of  pimples, 
which  sufficiently  declared  his  infraction  of  Ma- 
homet's law ;  his  whiskers  were  the  most  famous  in 
the  country,  and  mothers  wished  their  sons  nothing 
so  much  as  a  like  pair.  Raab  had  wives,  because 
he  was  rich ;  but  he  thought  in  a  manner  that  is  but 
too  common  in  the  East  and  in  some  of  our  colleges 
in  Europe.  "Your  excellence  is  brighter  than  the 
stars,"  said  the  cunning  Persian  to  the  brisk  Can- 
dide  one  day,  half  smiling  and  half  suppressing  his 
words.  "You  must  have  captivated  a  great  many 
hearts;  you  are  formed  to  give  and  receive  happi- 
ness." "Alas !"  answered  our  hero,  "I  was  happy 
only  by  halves,  behind  a  screen,  where  I  was  but 
half  at  my  ease.  Mademoiselle  Cunegund  was 
handsome  then — Mademoiselle  Cunegund ;  poor  in- 
nocent thing!"  "Follow  me,  my  lord,"  said  the  Per- 
sian. And  Candide  followed  accordingly.  They 
came  to  a  very  agreeable  retreat,  where  silence  and 
pleasure  reigned.  There  Ismael  Raab  tenderly  em- 
braced Candide,  and  in  a  few  words  made  a  declara- 
tion of  love  like  that  which  the  beautiful  Alexis  ex- 
presses with  so  much  pleasure  in  Virgil's  Ec- 
logues. Candide  could  not  recover  from  his  aston- 
ishment. "No,"  cried  he,  "I  can  never  suffer  such 
infamy !  what  cause  and  what  horrible  effect !  I  had 
rather  die."  "So  you  shall,"  replied  Ismael,  en- 
raged. "How,  thou  Christian  dog !  because  I  would 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist          215 

politely  give  you  pleasure — resolve  directly  to  sat- 
isfy me,  or  to  suffer  the  most  cruel  death."  Candide 
did  not  long  hesitate.  The  cogent  reason  of  the 
Persian  made  him  tremble ;  for  he  feared  death  like 
a  philosopher. 

We  accustom  ourselves  to  everything  in  time. 
Candide,  well  fed,  well  taken  care  of,  but  closely 
watched,  was  not  absolutely  disgusted  with  his  con- 
dition. Good  cheer  and  the  different  diversions 
performed  by  Ismael's  slaves  gave  some  respite  to 
his  chagrin ;  he  was  unhappy  only  when  he  thought ; 
and  thus  it  is  with  the  greatest  part  of  mankind. 

At  that  time  one  of  the  most  stanch  supporters  of 
the  monkish  crew  in  Persia,  the  most  learned  of  the 
Mahometan  doctors,  who  understood  Arabic  per- 
fectly, and  even  Greek,  as  spoken  at  that  day  in  the 
country  of  Demosthenes  and  Sophocles,  the  Rever- 
end Ed-Ivan-Baal-Denk,  returned  from  Constanti- 
nople, where  he  had  conversed  with  the  Reverend 
Mamoud-Abram  on  a  very  delicate  point  of  doc- 
trine; namely,  whether  the  prophet  had  plucked 
from  the  angel  Gabriel's  wing  the  pen  which  he 
used  for  the  writing  of  the  Koran ;  or  if  Gabriel  had 
made  him  a  present  of  it.  They  had  disputed  for 
three  days  and  three  nights  with  a  warmth  worthy 
of  the  noblest  sages  of  controversy ;  and  the  doctor 
returned  home  persuaded,  like  all  the  disciples  of 
Ali,  that  Mahomet  had  plucked  the  quill ;  while  Ma- 
moud-Abram remained  convinced,  like  the  rest  of 
Omar's  followers,  that  the  prophet  was  incapable  of 


21 6  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

committing  any  such  rudeness,  and  that  the  angel 
had  very  politely  made  him  a  present  of  this  quill 
for  his  pen. 

It  is  said  that  there  was  at  Constantinople  a  cer- 
tain free-thinker  who  insinuated  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  examine  first  whether  the  Koran  was  really 
written  with  a  pen  taken  from  the  wing  of  the 
angel  Gabriel;  but  he  was  stoned. 

Candide's  arrival  had  made  a  noise  in  Tauris; 
many  who  had  heard  him  speak  of  contingent  and 
non-contingent  effects  imagined  he  was  a  philoso- 
pher. The  Reverend  Ed-Ivan-Baal-Denk  was  told 
of  him ;  he  had  the  curiosity  to  come  and  see  him ; 
and  Raab,  who  could  hardly  refuse  a  person  of  such 
consequence,  sent  for  Candide  to  make  his  appear- 
ance. He  seemed  to  be  well  pleased  with  the  man- 
ner in  which  Candide  spake  of  bad  physics,  bad 
morals,  of  agent  and  effect.  "I  understand  that  you 
are  a  philosopher,  and  that's  all.  But  it  is  enough, 
Candide,"  said  the  venerable  recluse.  "It  is  not  right 
that  so  great  a  man  as  you  are  should  be  treated  with 
such  indignity,  as  I  am  told,  in  the  world.  You  are 
a  stranger;  Ismael  Raab  has  no  right  over  you.  I 
propose  to  conduct  you  to  court,  there  you  shall 
meet  with  a  favorable  reception;  the  sophi  loves 
the  sciences.  Ismael,  you  must  put  this  young  phi- 
losopher into  my  hands,  or  dread  incurring  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  prince  and  drawing  upon  yourself 
the  vengeance  of  heaven ;  but  especially  of  the 
monks."  These  last  words  frightened  the  otherwise 


Candidc;  or,  The  Optimist.          217 

undaunted  Persian,  and  he  consented  to  everything; 
Candide,  blessing  heaven  and  the  monks,  went  the 
same  day  out  of  Tauris  with  the  Mahometan  doctor. 
They  took  the  road  to  Ispahan,  where  they  arrived 
loaded  with  the  blessings  and  favors  of  the  people. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CANDIDE'S  RECEPTION  AT  COURT  AND  WHAT  FOL- 
LOWED. 

THE  Reverend  Ed-Ivan-Baal-Denk  made  no 
delay  in  presenting  Candide  to  the  king.  His  maj- 
esty took  a  particular  pleasure  in  hearing  him ;  he 
made  him  dispute  with  several  learned  men  of  his 
court,  who  looked  upon  him  as  a  fool,  an  ignoramus, 
and  an  idiot ;  which  much  contributed  to  per- 
suade his  majesty  that  he  was  a  great  man.  "Be- 
cause," said  he  to  them,  "you  do  not  comprehend 
Candide's  reasonings,  you  abuse  him;  but  I,  who 
also  comprehend  nothing  at  all  of  them,  assure  you 
that  he  is  a  great  philosopher,  and  I  swear  to  it  by 
my  whisker."  Upon  these  words  the  literati  were 
struck  dumb. 

Candide  had  apartments  assigned  him  in  the  pal- 
ace ;  he  had  slaves  to  wait  on  him ;  he  was  dressed 
in  magnificent  clothes,  and  the  sophi  commanded 
that  whatever  he  should  say,  no  one  should  dare  to 
assert  that  he  was  wrong.  His  majesty  did  not* 

*If  this  would  induce  philosophers  who  lose  their  time  in 
barking  in  Procopius's  cottage,  to  take  a  short  trip  into 
Persia,  this  frivolous  work  would  be  of  great  service  to 
messieurs  the  Parisians.— RALPH. 


2i  8  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Stop  here.  The  venerable  monk  was  continually  so- 
liciting him  in  favor  of  his  guest,  and  his  majesty 
at  length  resolved  to  rank  him  among  the  number  of 
his  most  intimate  favorites. 

"God  be  praised  and  our  holy  prophet,"  said  the 
imam,  addressing  himself  to  Candide.  "I  am  come 
to  tell  you  an  agreeable  piece  of  news ;  that  you  are 
happy,  my  dear  Candide;  that  you  are  going  to 
raise  the  envy  of  the  world ;  you  shall  swim  in  opu- 
lence; you  may  aspire  to  the  most  splendid  posts 
in  the  empire.  But  do  not  forget  me,  my  friend; 
think  that  it  is  I  who  have  procured  you  the  favor 
you  are  just  on  the  point  of  enjoying;  let  gayety 
reign  over  the  horizon  of  your  countenance.  The 
king  grants  you  a  favor  which  has  been  sought  by 
many,  and  you  will  soon  exhibit  a  sight  which  the 
court  has  not  enjoyed  these  two  years  past."  "And 
what  are  these  favors?"  demanded  Candide,  "with 
which  the  prince  intends  to  honor  me  ?"  "This  very 
day,"  answered  the  monk,  quite  overjoyed,  "this 
very  day  you  are  to  receive  fifty  strokes  with  a 
leathern  lash  on  the  soles  of  your  feet,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  majesty.  The  eunuchs  named  for  per- 
fuming you  for  the  occasion  are  to  be  here  directly ; 
prepare  yourself  to  go  cheerfully  through  this  little 
trial  and  thereby  render  yourself  worthy  of  the  king 
of  kings."  "Let  the  king  of  kings,"  cried  Candide 
in  a  rage,  "keep  his  favors  to  himself,  if  I  must  re- 
ceive fifty  blows  with  a  lash  in  order  to  merit  them." 
"It  is  thus,"  replied  the  doctor  coldly,  "that  he  deals 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          219 

with  those  on  whom  he  means  to  pour  down  his  ben- 
efits. I  love  you  too  much  to  regard  the  little  temper 
which  you  show  on  this  occasion,  and  I  will  make 
you  happy  in  spite  of  yourself." 

He  had  not  done  speaking  when  the  eunuchs  ar- 
rived, preceded  by  the  executor  of  his  majesty's  pri- 
vate pleasures,  who  was  one  of  the  greatest  and  most 
robust  lords  of  the  court.  Candide  in  vain  remon- 
strated against  their  proceedings.  They  perfumed 
his  legs  and  feet,  according  to  custom.  Four 
eunuchs  carried  him  to  the  place  appointed  for  the 
ceremony  through  the  midst  of  a  double  file  of  sol- 
diers, while  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  cannon  fired, 
and  the  bells  of  all  the  mosques*  of  Ispahan  jingled ; 
the  sophi  was  already  there,  accompanied  by  his 
principal  officers  and  most  distinguished  personages 
of  his  court.  In  an  instant  they  stretched  out  Can- 
dide upon  a  little  form  finely  gilded,  and  the  execu- 
tor of  the  private  pleasures  put  himself  in  a  posture 
for  entering  upon  his  office.  "O !  Master  Pangloss, 
Master  Pangloss,  were  you  but  here!"  said  Can- 
dide, weeping  and  roaring  out  with  all  his  force ;  a 
circumstance  which  would  have  been  thought  very 
indecent  if  the  monk  had  not  given  the  people  to  un- 
derstand that  his  guest  had  put  himself  into  such 

*There  never  was  a  hell  in  any  mos<que  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world.  This  little  impropriety  puts  us  in  mind 
of  the  puppet  show  in  Don  Quixote,  in  which  the  showman 
having  introduced  hells  in  the  city  of  Saragossa,  while  it 
was  in  possession  of  the  Moors,  the  knight  very  gravely 
assures  master  Peter  he  must  he  mistaken;  porque  entre 
Moros  no  se  usan  canpanas  (for  bells  are  never  used 
among  the  Moors). 


22O  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

violent  agitations  only  the  better  to  divert  his  maj- 
esty. This  great  king,  it  is  true,  laughed  like  a  fool ; 
he  even  took  such  delight  in  the  affair  that  after  the 
fifty  blows  had  been  given,  he  ordered  fifty  more  to 
be  added.  But  his  first  minister  having  represented 
to  him,  with  a  firmness  not  very  common,  that  such 
an  unheard  of  favor  with  regard  to  a  stranger  might 
alienate  the  hearts  of  his  subjects,  he  revoked  that 
order,  and  Candide  was  carried  back  to  his  apart- 
ments. 

They  put  him  to  bed,  after  having  bathed  his 
feet  with  vinegar.  The  grandees  came  round  him  in 
order  to  congratulate  him  on  his  good  fortune.  The 
sophi  then  came  to  assist  him  in  person,  and  not  only 
gave  him  his  hand  to  kiss,  according  to  the  custom, 
but  likewise  honored  him  with  a  great  blow  of  his 
fist  on  his  mouth.  Whence  the  politicians  con- 
jectured that  Candide  would  arrive  at  extraordinary 
preferment,  and  what  is  very  uncommon,  though 
politicians,  they  were  not  deceived. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FRESH   FAVORS   CONFERRED  ON    CANDIDE;     HIS  GREAT 
ADVANCEMENT. 

As  SOON  as  our  hero  was  cured,  he  was  intro- 
duced to  the  king,  to  return  him  his  thanks.  The 
monarch  received  him  very  graciously.  He  gave 
him  two  or  three  hearty  boxes  on  the  ear  during 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          221 

their  conversation,  and  conducted  him  back  as  far  as 
the  guard-room,  with  several  sound  kicks  on  the  pos- 
terior ;  at  which  the  courtiers  were  ready  to  burst 
for  envy.  Since  his  majesty  had  been  in  a  drubbing 
humor,  no  person  had  ever  received  such  signal 
marks  of  his  majesty's  favor  in  this  way  as  did  Can- 
dide. 

Three  days  after  this  interview,  our  philosopher, 
who  was  enraged  at  the  favors  he  had  received,  and 
thought  that  everything  went  very  bad,  was  nomi- 
nated governor  of  Chusistan,  with  an  absolute 
power.  He  was  decorated  with  a  fur  cap,  which  is 
a  grand  mark  of  distinction  in  Persia.  He  took  his 
leave  of  the  sophi  and  departed  for  Sus,  the  capital 
of  his  province.  From  the  moment  that  Candide 
made  his  appearance  at  court  the  grandees  had 
plotted  his  destruction.  The  excessive  favors  which 
the  sophi  had  heaped  on  him  served  but  to  increase 
the  storm  ready  to  burst  upon  his  head.  He,  how- 
ever, applauded  himself  on  his  good  fortune;  and 
especially  his  removal  from  court ;  he  enjoyed  in 
prospect  the  pleasures  of  supreme  rank,  and  he  said 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart : 

"How  blest  the  subject  from  his  lord  removed !" 
He  had  not  gone  quite  twenty  miles  from  Ispa- 
han before  five  hundred  horsemen,  armed  cap-a-pie, 
came  up  with  him  and  his  attendants  and  discharged 
a  volley  of  firearms  upon  them.  Candide  imagined 
at  first  that  this  was  intended  to  do  him  an  honor; 
but  the  ball  which  broke  his  leg  soon  gave  him  to 


222  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

know  what  was  going  on.  His  people  laid  down 
their  arms,  and  Candide,  more  dead  than  alive,  was 
carried  to  a  castle  remote  from  any  other  dwelling. 
His  baggage,  camels,  slaves,  white  and  black  eu- 
nuchs, with  thirty-six  women  which  the  sophi  had 
given  him  for  his  use,  all  became  the  prey  of  the 
conqueror.  Our  hero's  leg  was  cut  off  for  fear  of 
mortification,  and  care  was  taken  of  his  life,  that  a 
more  cruel  death  might  be  inflicted  on  him. 

"O  Pangloss!  Pangloss!  what  would  now  be- 
come of  your  optimism  if  you  saw  me  short  of  one 
leg  in  the  hands  of  my  crudest  enemies ;  just  as  I 
was  entering  upon  the  path  of  happiness,  and  was 
governor,  or  king,  as  one  may  say,  of  one  of  the 
most  considerable  provinces  of  the  empire  of  ancient 
Media ;  when  I  had  camels,  slaves,  black  and  white 
eunuchs,  and  thirty-six  women  for  my  own  use,  and 
of  which  I  had  not  made  any?"  Thus  Candide 
spoke  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  speak. 

But  while  he  was  thus  bemoaning  himself,  every- 
thing was  going  for  the  best  for  him.  The  ministry. 
informed  of  the  outrages  committed  against  him, 
had  detached  a  body  of  well-disciplined  troops  in 
pursuit  of  the  mutineers,  and  the  monk  Ed-Ivan- 
Baal-Denk  took  care  to  publish  by  means  of  others 
of  his  fraternity  that  Candide,  being  the  work  of 
the  monks,  was  consequently  the  work  of  God. 
Such  as  had  any  knowledge  of  this  atrocious  attempt 
were  so  much  the  more  ready  to  discover  it,  as  the 
ministers  of  religion  gave  assurance  on  the  part  of 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          223 

Mahomet  that  every  one  who  had  eaten  pork,  drank 
wine,  omitted  bathing  for  any  number  of  days  to- 
gether, or  had  conversed  with  women  at  the  time  of 
their  impurity,  against  the  express  prohibitions  of 
the  Koran,  should  be,  ipso  facto,  absolved,  upon 
declaring  what  they  knew  concerning  the  conspir- 
acy. They  soon  discovered  the  place  of  Candide's 
confinement,  which  they  broke  open ;  and  as  it  was 
a  religious  affair  the  party  worsted  were  extermi- 
nated to  a  man,  agreeably  to  custom  in  that  case. 
Candide,  marching  over  a  heap  of  dead  bodies,  made 
his  escape,  triumphed  over  the  greatest  peril  he  had 
hitherto  encountered,  and  with  his  attendants  re- 
sumed the  road  to  his  government.  He  was  re- 
ceived there  as  a  favorite  who  had  been  honored 
with  fifty  blows  of  a  lash  on  the  soles  of  his  feet  in 
the  presence  of  the  king  of  kings. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  CANDIDE  BECAME  A  VERY  GREAT  MAN,  AND  YET 
WAS    NOT    CONTENTED. 

THE  good  of  philosophy  is  its  inspiring  us  with 
a  love  for  our  fellow-creatures.  Paschal  is  almost 
the  only  philosopher  who  seems  desirous  to  make  us 
hate  our  neighbors.  Luckily  Candide  had  not  read 
Paschal,  and  he  loved  the  poor  human  race  very 
cordially.  This  was  soon  perceived  by  the  upright 


224  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

part  of  the  people.  They  had  always  kept  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  pretended  legates  of  heaven,  but 
made  no  scruple  of  visiting  Candide  and  assisting 
him  with  their  counsels.  He  made  several  wise  reg- 
ulations for  the  encouragement  of  agriculture,  pop- 
ulation, commerce,  and  the  arts.  He  rewarded  those 
who  had  made  any  useful  experiments ;  and  even 
encouraged  such  as  had  produced  some  essays  on 
literature. 

"When  the  people  in  my  province  are  in  gen- 
eral content,"  said  he  with  a  charming  candor, 
"possibly  I  shall  be  so  myself."  Candide  was  a 
stranger  to  mankind ;  he  saw  himself  torn  to  pieces 
in  seditious  libels  and  calumniated  in  a  work  en- 
titled "The  Friend  to  Mankind."  He  found  that 
while  he  was  laboring  to  make  people  happy  he  had 
only  made  them  ungrateful.  "Ah,"  cried  Candide, 
"how  hard  it  is  to  govern  these  beings  without 
feathers,  which  vegetate  on  the  earth!  Why  am  I 
not  still  in  Propontis,  in  the  company  of  Master 
Pangloss,  Miss  Cunegund,  the  daughter  of  Pope 
Urban  X.,  with  only  one  cushion,  Brother  Giroflee, 
and  the  most  luscious  Pacquette !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  CANDIDE. 

CANDIDE,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  grief,  wrote  a 
very  pathetic  letter  to  the  Reverend  Ed-Ivan-Baal- 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          225 

Denk.  He  painted  to  him  in  such  lively  colors  the 
present  state  of  his  soul,  that  Ed-Ivan,  greatly  af- 
fected with  it,  obtained  permission  of  the  sophi  that 
Candide  should  resign  his  employments.  His  maj- 
esty, in  recompense  of  his  services,  granted  him  a 
very  considerable  pension.  Eased  from  the  weight 
of  grandeur,  our  philosopher  immediately  sought 
after  Pangloss'  optimism,  in  the  pleasures  of  a  pri- 
vate life.  He  till  then  had  lived  for  the  benefit  of 
others,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  a 
seraglio. 

He  now  called  it  to  remembrance  with  that  emo- 
tion which  the  very  name  inspires.  "Let  everything 
be  got  ready,"  said  he  to  his  first  eunuch,  "for  my 
visiting  my  women."  "My  lord,"  answered  the 
shrill-piped  slave,  "it  is  now  that  your  excellency 
deserves  the  title  of  wise.  The  men  for  whom  you 
have  done  so  much  were  not  worthy  of  employing 
your  thoughts,  but  the  women — "  "That  may  be," 
said  Candide  modestly. 

At  the  bottom  of  a  garden,  where  art  had  assisted 
nature  to  unfold  her  beauties,  stood  a  small  house  of 
simple  and  elegant  structure,  very  different  from 
those  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  suburbs  of  the 
finest  city  in  Europe.  Candide  could  not  approach 
it  without  blushing;  the  air  round  this  charming 
retreat  diffused  a  delicious  perfume;  the  flowers, 
amorously  intermingled,  seemed  here  to  be  guided 
by  the  instinct  of  pleasure,  and  preserved,  for  a  long 
time,  their  various  beauties.  Here  the  rose  never 

Vol.  1—15 


226  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

lost  its  lovely  hue;  the  view  of  a  rock,  from  which 
the  waters  precipitated  themselves  with  a  murmur- 
ing and  confused  noise,  invited  the  soul  of  that  soft 
melancholy  which  is  ever  the  forerunner  of  pleasure. 
Candide  entered  trembling  into  a  chamber,  where 
taste  and  magnificence  were  united ;  his  senses  were 
drawn  by  a  secret  charm;  he  cast  his  eyes  on 
young  Telemachus,  who  breathed  on  the  canvas  in 
the  midst  of  the  nymphs  of  Calypso's  court.  He 
next  turned  them  to  Diana,  half-naked,  flying  into 
the  arms  of  the  tender  Endymion ;  his  agitation  in- 
creased at  the  sight  of  a  Venus,  faithfully  copied 
from  that  of  Medici;  his  ears  were  struck  with  a 
divine  harmony;  a  company  of  young  Circassian 
females  appeared,  covered  with  their  veils;  they 
formed  round  him  a  sort  of  dance,  agreeably  de- 
signed, and  more  graceful  than  those  trifling  jigs 
that  are  performed  on  as  trifling  stages,  after  the 
representation  of  the  death  of  Caesar  and  Pompey. 

At  a  signal  given  they  threw  off  their  veils  and 
discovered  faces  full  of  expression,  that  lent  new  life 
to  the  diversion.  These  beauties  studied  the  most 
seducing  attitudes,  without  appearing  to  intend  it; 
one  expressed  in  her  looks  a  passion  without  bounds ; 
another  a  soft  languor  which  waits  for  pleasures 
without  seeking  them;  this  fair  one  stooped  and 
raised  herself  precipitately  to  disclose  to  view  those 
enchanting  charms  which  the  fair  sex  display  in  such 
full  scope  at  Paris;  another  threw  aside  a  part  of 
her  cymar  to  show  a  form,  which  alone  is  capable  of 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          227 

inflaming  a  mortal  of  any  delicacy.  The  dance 
ceased  and  they  remained  in  profound  silence. 

This  pause  recalled  Candide  to  himself.  The  fire 
of  love  took  possession  of  his  breast ;  he  darted  the 
most  ardent  looks  on  all  around  him;  imprinted 
warm  kisses  on  lips  as  warm,  and  eyes  that  swam 
in  liquid  fire ;  he  passed  his  hand  over  globes  whiter 
than  alabaster,  whose  palpitating  motion  repelled 
the  touch;  admired  their  proportion;  perceived 
little  vermilion  protuberances  like  those  rosebuds 
which  only  wait  the  genial  rays  of  the  sun  to  unfold 
them ;  he  kissed  them  with  rapture,  and  his  lips  for 
some  time  remained  glued  thereon. 

Our  philosopher  next  admired  for  a  while  a  ma- 
jestic figure  of  a  fine  and  delicate  shape.  Burning 
with  desires,  he  at  length  threw  the  handkerchief  to 
a  young  person  whose  eyes  he  had  observed  to  be 
always  fixed  upon  him,  and  which  seemed  to  say, 
"Teach  me  the  meaning  of  a  trouble  I  am  ignorant 
of" ;  and  who,  blushing  at  the  secret  avowal,  became 
a  thousand  times  more  charming.  The  eunuch  then 
opened  the  door  of  a  private  chamber  consecrated 
to  the  mysteries  of  love,  into  which  the  lovers  en- 
tered ;  and  the  eunuch,  addressing  his  master,  said : 
"Here  it  is,  my  lord,  you  are  going  to  be  truly 
happy."  "Oh!"  answered  Candide,  "I  am  in  great 
hopes  of  it." 

The  ceiling  and  walls  of  this  little  retreat  were 
covered  with  mirrors;  in  the  midst  was  placed  a 
divan  of  black  satin,  on  which  Candide  threw  the 


228  Candide  ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

young  Circassian  and  caressed  her  in  silent  ec- 
stasy. The  fair  one  gave  him  no  other  interruption 
but  to  imprint  kisses,  full  of  fire,  on  his  lips.  "My 
lord,"  said  she  to  him  in  the  Turkish  language, 
which  she  spoke  perfectly,  "how  fortunate  is  your 
slave,  to  be  thus  honored  with  your  transports !"  An 
energy  of  sentiment  can  be  expressed  in  every  lan- 
guage by  those  who  truly  feel  it.  These  few  words 
enchanted  our  philosopher ;  he  was  no  longer  him- 
self ;  all  he  saw,  all  he  heard,  was  new  to  him.  What 
difference  between  Miss  Cunegund,  grown  ugly, 
and  violated  by  Bulgarian  freebooters,  and  a  Circas- 
sian girl  of  eighteen,  till  then  a  stranger  to  man. 
This  was  the  first  time  the  wise  Candide  enjoyed 
her.  The  objects  which  he  devoured  were  repeated  in 
the  mirrors ;  wherever  he  cast  his  eyes  he  saw  upon 
the  black  satin  the  most  beautiful  and  fairest  body 
possible,  and  the  contrast  of  colors  lent  it  new  lustre, 
with  round,  firm,  and  plump  thighs,  an  admirable 
fall  of  loins,  a — but  I  am  obliged  to  have  a  regard  to 
the  false  delicacy  of  our  language.  It  is  sufficient 
for  me  to  say  that  our  philosopher  tasted,  by  fre- 
quent repetitions,  of  that  portion  of  happiness  he 
was  capable  of  receiving,  and  that  the  young  Circas- 
sian in  a  little  while  proved  his  sufficing  reason. 

"O  master,  my  dear  master!"  cried  Candide,  al- 
most beside  himself,  "everything  here  is  as  well  as 
in  El  Dorado;  a  fine  woman  can  alone  complete 
the  wishes  of  man.  I  am  as  happy  as  it  is  possible 
to  be.  Leibnitz  is  in  the  right,  and  you  are  a  great 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          229 

philosopher.  For  instance,  I  engage  that  you,  my 
lovely  girl,  have  always  had  a  bias  towards  op- 
timism, because  you  have  always  been  happy." 
"Alas!  no,"  answered  she.  "I  do  not  know  what 
optimism  is ;  but  I  swear  to  you  that  your  slave  has 
not  known  happiness  till  to-day.  If  my  lord  is 
pleased  to  give  me  leave,  I  will  convince  him  of  it 
by  a  succinct  recital  of  my  adventures."  "I  am  very 
willing,"  said  Candide.  "I  am  in  a  position  to  hear 
an  historical  detail."  Upon  which  the  fair  slave 
began  as  follows: 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ZIRZA. 

"Mv  FATHER  was  a  Christian,  and  so  likewise  am 
I,  as  far  as  I  have  been  told.  He  had  a  little  hermi- 
tage near  Cotatis,  where,  by  his  fervent  devotion  and 
practising  austerities  shocking  to  human  nature,  he 
acquired  the  veneration  of  the  faithful.  Crowds  of 
women  came  to  pay  him  their  homage  and  took  a 
particular  satisfaction  in  bathing  his  posteriors, 
which  he  lashed  every  day  with  several  smart  strokes 
of  discipline;  doubtless  it  was  to  one  of  the  most 
devout  of  these  visitants  that  I  owe  my  being.  I 
was  brought  up  in  a  cave  in  the  neighborhood  of 
my  father's  little  cell.  I  was  twelve  years  of  age 
and  had  not  yet  left  this  kind  of  grave,  when  the 
earth  shook  with  a  dreadful  noise ;  the  arch  of  the 
vault  fell  in,  and  I  was  drawn  out  from  under  the 


23  o          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

rubbish  half  dead  when  light  struck  my  eyes  for  the 
first  time.  My  father  took  me  into  his  hermitage  as 
a  predestined  child.  The  whole  of  this  adventure 
appeared  strange  to  the  people ;  my  father  declared 
it  a  miracle,  and  so  did  they. 

"I  was  called  Zirza,  which  in  Persian  signifies 
'child  of  providence.'  Notice  was  soon  taken  of  my 
poor  charms;  the  women  already  came  but  seldom 
to  the  hermitage  and  the  men  much  oftener.  One  of 
them  told  me  that  he  loved  me.  'Villain,'  said  my 
father  to  him,  'hast  thou  substance  sufficient  to  love 
her  ?  This  is  a  great  gift  which  God  has  intrusted  to 
me ;  He  has  made  His  appearance  to  me  this  night, 
under  the  shape  of  a  venerable  hermit,  and  He  for- 
bade me  to  give  up  the  possession  thereof  for  less 
than  a  thousand  sequins.  Get  thee  gone,  poor  devil, 
lest  thine  impure  breath  should  blast  her  charms/  'I 
have,'  answered  he,  'only  a  heart  to  offer  her.  But 
say,  barbarian,  dost  thou  not  blush  to  make  sport  of 
the  Deity,  for  the  gratification  of  thine  avarice? 
With  what  front,  vile  wretch,  darest  thou  pretend 
that  God  has  spoken  to  thee?  This  is  throwing  the 
greatest  contempt  upon  the  Author  of  beings,  to  rep- 
resent Him  conversing  with  such  men  as  thou  art.' 
'O  blasphemy!'  cried  my  father  in  a  rage,  'God 
Himself  has  commanded  me  to  stone  blasphemers.' 
As  he  spoke  these  words,  he  fell  upon  my  lover,  and 
with  repeated  blows  laid  him  dead  on  the  ground, 
and  his  blood  flew  in  my  face.  Though  I  had  not 
yet  known  what  love  was,  this  man  had  interested 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          23 1 

me,  and  his  death  shocked  me,  and  rendered  the 
sight  of  my  father  insufferable  to  me.  I  took  a  reso- 
lution to  leave  him;  he  perceived  it.  'Ungrateful,' 
said  he  to  me,  'it  is  to  me  thou  owest  thy  being. 
Thou  are  my  daughter — and  thou  hatest  me ;  but  I 
am  going  to  deserve  thy  hatred,  by  the  most  rigor- 
ous treatment.'  He  kept  his  word  but  too  well  with* 
me,  cruel  man !  During  five  years,  which  I  spent  in 
tears  and  groans,  neither  my  youth  nor  my  clouded 
beauty  could  in  the  least  abate  his  wrath.  Some- 
times he  stuck  a  thousand  pins  into  all  the  parts  of 
my  body ;  at  other  times,  with  his  discipline,  he  made 
the  blood  trickle  down  my  body."  "This, "said Can- 
dide, "  gave  you  less  pain  than  the  pins."  "True,  my 
lord,"  answered  Zirza.  "At  last,"  continued  she,  "I 
fled  from  my  father's  habitation ;  and  not  daring  to 
trust  myself  to  anybody,  I  flung  myself  into  the  thick- 
est part  of  the  woods,  where  I  was  three  days  without 
food,  and  should  have  died  were  it  not  for  a  tiger 
which  I  had  the  happiness  to  please,  and  who  was  wil- 
ling to  share  with  me  the  prey  he  caught.  But  I  had 
many  horrors  toencounter  from  this  formidable  beast; 
and  the  brute  had  moods  as  changeable  and  dangerous 
as  those  which  render  men,  in  certain  conditions,  the 
prey  of  brutal  passions  which  degrade  their  humanity. 
"Bad  food  gave  me  the  scurvy.  Scarcely  was  I  cured, 
when  I  followed  a  merchant  of  slaves,  who  was  go- 
ing to  Tiflis.  The  plague  was  there  then,  and  I  took 
it.  These  various  misfortunes  did  not  absolutely 
affect  my  features,  nor  hinder  the  sophi's  purveyor 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

from  buying  me  for  your  use.  I  have  languished  in 
tears  these  three  months  that  I  have  been  among 
the  number  of  your  women.  My  companions  and  I 
imagined  ourselves  to  be  the  objects  of  your  con- 
tempt ;  and  if  you  knew,  my  lord,  how  disagreeable 
eunuchs  are,  and  how  little  adapted  for  comforting 
young  girls  who  are  despised — in  short,  I  am  not 
yet  eighteen  years  of  age ;  and  of  these  I  have  spent 
twelve  in  a  frightful  cavern;  undergone  an  earth- 
quake ;  been  covered  with  the  blood  of  the  first  good 
man  I  had  hitherto  seen ;  endured,  for  the  space  of 
four  years,  the  most  cruel  tortures,  and  have  had  the 
scurvy,  and  the  plague.  Consumed  with  desires, 
amidst  a  crew  of  black  and  white  monsters,  still 
preserving  that  which  I  have  saved  from  the  fury 
of  an  awkward  tiger;  and,  cursing  my  fate,  I  have 
passed  three  months  in  this  seraglio ;  where  I  should 
have  died  of  the  jaundice,  had  not  your  excellency 
honored  me  at  last  with  your  embraces."  "O 
heavens!"  cried  Candide,  "is  it  possible  that  you 
have  experienced  such  great  misfortunes  at  so  ten- 
der an  age?  What  would  Pangloss  say  could  he 
hear  you  ?  But  your  misfortunes  are  at  an  end,  as 
well  as  mine.  Everything  does  not  go  badly  now; 
is  not  this  true?"  Upon  that  Candide  resumed  his 
caresses,  and  was  more  than  ever  confirmed  in  the 
belief  of  Pangloss'  system. 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          233 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
CANDIDE'S  DISGUSTS — AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 

OUR  philosopher,  in  the  midst  of  his  seraglio,  dis- 
pensed his  favors  equally.  He  tasted  the  pleasures 
of  variety,  and  always  returned  to  the  "child  of 
providence"  with  fresh  ardor.  But  this  did  not  last 
long ;  he  soon  felt  violent  pains  in  his  loins,  and  an 
excruciating  colic.  He  dried  up,  as  he  grew  happy. 
Then  Zirza's  breast  appeared  no  longer  so  white,  or 
so  well  placed ;  her  thighs  not  so  hard,  nor  so  plump ; 
her  eyes  lost  all  their  vivacity  in  those  of  Candide ; 
her  complexion,  its  lustre;  and  her  lips  that  pure 
vermilion  which  had  enchanted  him  at  first  sight. 
He  now  perceived  that  she  walked  badly,  and  had 
an  offensive  smell :  he  saw,  with  the  greatest  dis- 
gust, a  spot  upon  the  "mount  of  Venus,"  which  he 
had  never  observed  before  to  be  tainted  with  any 
blemish :  the  vehement  ardor  of  Zirza  became  bur- 
densome to  him :  he  could  see,  with  great  coolness, 
the  faults  of  his  other  women,  which  had  escaped 
him  in  his  first  transports  of  passion ;  he  saw  noth- 
ing in  them  but  a  bare-faced  impudence;  he  was 
ashamed  to  have  walked  in  the  steps  of  the  wisest  of 
men ;  and  he  found  women  more  bitter  than  death. 

Candide,  always  cherishing  Christian  sentiments, 
spent  his  leisure  time  in  walking  over  the  streets  of 
Sus;  when  one  day  a  cavalier,  in  a  superb  dress, 
came  up  to  him  suddenly  and  called  him  by  his  name. 
"Is  it  possible!"  cried  Candide,  "my  lord,  that  you 


234          Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

are  —  it  is  not  possible ;  otherwise  you  are  so  very 
like  the  abbe  of  Perigord."  "I  am  the  very  man," 
answered  the  abbe.  Upon  this  Candide  started 
back,  and,  with  his  usual  ingenuousness,  said,  "Are 
you  happy,  Mr.  Abbe?"  "A  fine  question,"  replied 
the  abbe;  "the  little  deceit  which  I  have  put  upon 
you  has  contributed  not  a  little  to  gain  me  credit. 
The  police  had  employed  me  for  some  time;  but, 
having  fallen  out  with  them,  I  quitted  the  ecclesias- 
tical habit,  which  was  no  longer  of  any  service  to  me. 
I  went  over  into  England,  where  persons  of  my 
profession  are  better  paid.  I  said  all  I  knew,  and  all 
I  did  not  know,  about  the  strength  and  weakness  of 
the  country  I  had  lately  left.  I  especially  gave  bold 
assurances  that  the  French  were  the  dregs  of  the 
world,  and  that  good  sense  dwelt  nowhere  but  in 
London.  In  short,  I  made  a  splendid  fortune,  and 
have  just  concluded  a  treaty  at  the  court  of  Persia 
which  will  exterminate  all  the  Europeans  who  come 
for  cotton  and  silk  into  the  sophi's  dominions,  to  the 
detriment  of  the  English."  "The  object  of  your 
mission  is  very  commendable,"  said  our  philosopher ; 
"but,  Mr.  Abbe,  you  are  a  cheat ;  I  like  not  cheats, 
and  I  have  some  credit  at  court.  Tremble  now,  your 
happiness  has  arrived  at  its  utmost  limits ;  you  are 
just  upon  the  point  of  suffering  the  fate  you  de- 
serve." "My  lord  Candide,"  cried  the  abbe,  throw- 
ing himself  on  his  knees,  "have  pity  on  me.  I  feel 
myself  drawn  to  evil  by  an  irresistible  force,  as  you 
find  yourself  necessitated  to  the  practice  of  virtue. 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          235 

This  fatal  propensity  I  have  perceived  from  the  mo- 
ment I  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Wasp,  and 
worked  at  the  Feuilles."  "What  do  you  call 
Feuilles?"  said  Candide.  "Feuilles,"  answered  the 
abbe,  "are  sheets  of  seventy-two  pages  in  print,  in 
which  the  public  are  entertained  in  the  strain  of 
calumny,  satire,  and  dulness.  An  honest  man  who 
can  read  and  write,  and  who  is  not  able  to  continue 
among  the  Jesuits,  has  set  himself  to  compose  this 
pretty  little  work,  that  he  may  have  wherewithal  to 
give  his  wife  some  lace,  and  bring  up  his  children  in 
the  fear  of  God ;  and  there  are  certain  honest  people, 
who  for  a  few  pence,  and  some  bottles  of  bad  wine, 
assist  the  man  in  carrying  on  his  scheme.  This  Mr. 
Wasp  is,  besides,  a  member  of  a  curious  club,  who 
divert  themselves  by  making  poor,  ignorant  people 
drunk,  and  causing  them  to  blaspheme ;  or  in  bully- 
ing a  poor  simple  devil,  breaking  his  furniture,  and 
afterwards  challenging  him.  Such  pretty  little  amuse- 
ments these  gentry  call  'mystifications,'  and  richly 
deserve  the  attention  of  the  police.  In  fine,  this  very 
honest  man,  Mr.  Wasp,  who  boasts  he  never  was  in 
the  galleys,  is  troubled  with  a  disposition  which  ren- 
ders him  insensible  to  the  clearest  truths ;  and  from 
which  position  he  can  be  drawn  only  by  certain  vio- 
lent means,  which  he  sustains  with  a  resignation  and 
courage  above  conception.  I  have  worked  for  some 
time  under  this  celebrated  genius;  I  have  become 
an  eminent  writer  in  my  turn,  and  I  had  but  just 
quitted  Mr.  Wasp,  to  do  a  little  for  myself,  when  I 


236  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

had  the  honor  of  paying  you  a  visit  at  Paris." 
"Though  you  are  a  very  great  cheat,  Mr.  Abbe,  yet 
your  sincerity  in  this  point  makes  some  impression 
on  me.  Go  to  court ;  ask  for  the  Rev.  Ed-Ivan-Baal- 
Denk ;  I  shall  write  to  him  in  your  behalf,  but  upon 
express  condition  that  you  promise  me  to  become  an 
honest  man ;  and  that  you  will  not  be  the  occasion  of 
some  thousands  having  their  throats  cut,  for  the 
sake  of  a  little  silk  and  cotton."  The  abbe  prom- 
ised all  that  Candide  requested,  and  they  parted 
good  friends. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
CANDIDE'S  DISGRACES,  TRAVELS,  AND  ADVENTURES. 

No  SOONER  had  the  abbe  got  access  to  court  than 
he  employed  all  his  skill  in  order  to  ingratiate  him- 
self with  the  minister,  and  ruin  his  benefactor.  He 
spread  a  report  that  Candide  was  a  traitor,  and  that 
he  had  spoken  disrespectfully  of  the  hallowed  whis- 
kers of  the  king  of  kings.  All  the  courtiers  con- 
demned him  to  be  burned  in  a  slow  fire;  but  the 
sophi,  more  favorable,  only  sentenced  him  to  per- 
petual banishment,  after  having  previously  kissed 
the  sole  of  his  accuser's  foot,  according  to  the  usage 
among  the  Persians.  The  abbe  went  in  person  to 
put  the  sentence  in  execution :  he  found  our  philoso- 
pher in  pretty  good  health,  and  disposed  to  become 
happy  again.  "My  friend,"  said  the  English  am- 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          237 

bassador  to  him,  "I  come  with  regret  to  let  you 
know  that  you  must  quit  this  kingdom  with  all  expe- 
dition, and  kiss  my  feet,  with  a  true  repentance  for 
your  horrid  crimes."  "Kiss  your  feet,  Mr.  Abbe! 
certainly  you  are  not  in  earnest,  and  I  do  not  under- 
stand joking."  Upon  which  some  mutes,  who  had 
attended  the  abbe,  entwed  and  took  off  his  shoes, 
letting  poor  Candide  know,  by  signs,  that  he  must 
submit  to  this  piece  of  humiliation,  or  else  expect 
to  be  empaled.  Candide,  by  virtue  of  his  free  will, 
kissed  the  abbe's  feet.  They  put  on  him  a  sorry 
linen  robe,  and  the  executioner  drove  him  out  of  the 
town,  crying  all  the  time,  "Behold  a  traitor!  who 
has  spoken  irreverently  of  the  sophi's  whiskers!  ir- 
reverently of  the  imperial  whiskers  1" 

What  did  the  officious  monk,  while  his  friend, 
whom  he  protected,  was  treated  thus?  I  know 
nothing  of  that.  It  is  probable  that  he  was  tired 
of  protecting  Candide.  Who  can  depend  on  the 
favor  of  kings,  and  especially  that  of  monks? 

In  the  meantime  our  hero  went  sadly  on.  "I 
never  spoke,"  said  he  to  himself,  "about  the  king 
of  Persia's  whiskers.  I  am  cast  in  an  instant  from 
the  pinnacle  of  happiness  into  the  abyss  of  misery ; 
because  a  wretch,  who  has  violated  all  laws,  ac- 
cuses me  of  a  pretended  crime  which  I  have  never 
committed ;  and  this  wretch,  this  monster,  this  per- 
secuter  of  virtue — he  is  happy." 

Candide,  after  travelling  for  some  days,  found 
himself  upon  the  frontiers  of  Turkey.  He  directed 


a  3 8  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

his  course  towards  the  Propontis,  with  a  design  to 
settle  there  again,  and  pass  the  rest  of  his  days  in 
the  cultivation  of  his  garden.  He  saw,  as  he  entered 
a  little  village,  a  great  multitude  of  people  tumultu- 
ously  assembled;  he  inquired  into  the  cause  of  it. 
"This,"  said  an  old  man  to  him,  "is  a  singular 
affair.  It  is  some  time  ago  since  the  wealthy  Ma- 
homet demanded  in  marriage  the  daughter  of  the 
janissary  Zamoud ;  he  found  her  not  to  be  a  virgin ; 
and  in  pursuance  of  a  principle  quite  natural  and 
authorized  by  the  laws,  he  sent  her  home  to  her 
father,  after  having  branded  her  in  the  face.  Za- 
moud, exasperated  at  the  disgrace  brought  on  his 
family,  in  the  first  transports  of  a  fury  that  is  very 
natural,  with  one  stroke  of  his  scimitar  clove  the 
disfigured  visage  of  his  daughter.  His  eldest  son, 
who  loved  his  sister  passionately,  which  is 
very  frequent  in  nature,  flew  upon  his  father  and 
plunged  a  sharp  poniard  to  his  heart.  Afterwards, 
like  a  lion  who  grows  more  enraged  at  seeing  his 
own  blood  flow,  the  furious  Zamoud  ran  to  Ma- 
homet's house;  and,  after  striking  to  the  ground 
some  slaves  who  opposed  his  passage,  murdered 
Mahomet,  his  wives,  and  two  children  then  in  the 
cradle;  all  of  which  was  very  natural,  considering 
the  violent  passion  he  then  was  in.  At  last,  to  crown 
all,  he  killed  himself  with  the  same  poniard,  reeking 
with  the  blood  of  his  father  and  his  enemies,  which 
is  also  very  natural."  "What  a  scene  of  horrors!" 
cried  Candide.  "What  would  you  have  said,  Master 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          239 

Pangloss,  had  you  found  such  barbarities  in  na- 
ture? Would  not  you  acknowledge  that  nature  is 
corrupted,  that  all  is  not — "  "No,"  said  the  old 
man,  "for  the  pre-established  harmony — "  "O 
heavens !  do  ye  not  deceive  me  ?  Is  this  Pangloss  ?" 
cried  Candide,  "whom  I  again  see?"  "The  very 
same,"  answered  the  old  man.  "I  knew  you,  but  I 
was  willing  to  find  out  your  sentiments  before  I 
would  discover  myself.  Come,  let  us  discourse  a 
little  on  contingent  effects,  and  see  if  you  have  made 
any  progress  in  the  art  of  wisdom."  "Alas!"  said 
Candide,  "you  choose  your  time  ungenerously; 
rather  let  me  know  what  has  become  of  Miss  Cune- 
gund;  tell  me  where  are  Brother  Giroflee,  Pac- 
quette,  and  Pope  Urban's  daughter."  "I  know 
nothing  of  them,"  replied  Pangloss;  "it  is  ndw  two 
years  since  I  left  our  habitation  in  order  to  find  you 
out.  I  have  travelled  over  almost  all  Turkey ;  I  was 
upon  the  point  of  setting  out  for  the  court  of  Per- 
sia, where  I  heard  you  made  a  great  figure,  and  I 
only  tarried  in  this  little  village,  among  these  good 
people,  till  I  should  gather  strength  to  continue  my 
journey."  "What  is  this  I  see?"  answered  Candide, 
quite  surprised.  "You  want  an  arm,  my  dear  doc- 
tor." "That  is  nothing,"  replied  the  one-handed  and 
the  one-eyed  doctor;  "nothing  is  more  common  in 
the  best  of  worlds  than  to  see  persons  who  want 
one  eye  and  one  arm.  This  accident  befell  me  in  a 
journey  from  Mecca.  Our  caravan  was  attacked  by 
a  troop  of  Arabs;  our  guard  attempted  to  make 


240          Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

resistance,  and,  according  to  the  rules  of  war,  the 
Arabs,  who  found  themselves  to  be  the  strongest 
side,  massacred  us  all  without  mercy.  There  per- 
ished about  five  hundred  persons  in  this  attack, 
among  whom  were  about  a  dozen  pregnant  women. 
For  my  part  I  had  only  my  skull  split  and  an  arm 
cut  off;  I  did  not  die,  for  all  this,  and  I  still  found 
that  everything  went  for  the  best.  But  as  to  your- 
self, my  dear  Candide,  why  is  it  that  you  have  a 
wooden  leg?"  Upon  this  Candide  began  and  gave 
an  account  of  his  adventures.  Our  philosophers 
turned  together  towards  the  Propontis  and  en- 
livened their  journey  by  discoursing  on  physical  and 
moral  evil,  free  will  and  predestination,  monads  and 
pre-established  harmony. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CANDIDE  AND  PANGLOSS  ARRIVE  AT  THE  PROPONTI& — • 

WHAT     THEY     SAW     THERE WHAT     BECAME     OP 

THEM. 

O  CANDIDE!"  said  Pangloss,  "why  were  you 
tired  of  cultivating  your  garden?  Why  did  we  not 
still  continue  to  eat  citrons  and  pistachio  nuts?  Why 
were  you  weary  of  your  happiness  ?  Because  every- 
thing is  necessary  in  the  best  of  worlds,  there  was  a 
necessity  that  you  should  undergo  the  bastinado  in 
the  presence  of  the  king  of  Persia;  have  your  leg 
cut  off,  in  order  to  make  Chusistan  happy,  to  ex- 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          241 

perience  the  ingratitude  of  men,  and  draw  down 
upon  the  heads  of  some  atrocious  villains  the  pun- 
ishment which  they  had  deserved."  With  such  talk 
as  this  they  arrived  at  their  old  habitation.  The 
first  objects  that  presented  themselves  were  Martin 
and  Pacquette  in  the  habit  of  slaves.  "Whence," 
said  Candide  to  them,  "is  this  metamorphosis?" 
after  embracing  them  tenderly.  "Alas!"  answered 
they,  sobbing,  "you  have  no  more  a  habitation ;  an- 
other has  undertaken  the  labor  of  cultivating  your 
garden;  he  eats  your  preserved  citrons,  and  pis- 
tachios, and  we  are  treated  like  negroes."  "Who," 
said  Candide,  "is  this  other?"  "The  high  admiral," 
answered  they,  "a  mortal  the  least  humane  of  all 
mortals.  The  sultan,  willing  to  recompense  his  serv- 
ices without  putting  himself  to  any  expense,  has 
confiscated  all  your  goods  under  pretext  that  you 
had  gone  over  to  his  enemies,  and  condemned  us  to 
slavery."  "Be  advised  by  me,  Candide,"  added 
Martin,  "and  continue  your  journey.  I  always  told 
you  everything  is  for  the  worst ;  the  sum  of  evil  ex- 
ceeds by  much  that  of  good.  Begone,  and  I  do  not 
despair  but  you  may  become  a  Manichaean,  if  you 
are  not  so  already."  Pangloss  would  have  begun  an 
argument  in  form,  but  Candide  interrupted  him  to 
ask  about  Miss  Cunegund,  the  old  woman,  Brother 
Giroflee,  and  Cacambo.  "Cacambo,"  answered  Mar- 
tin, "is  here ;  he  is  at  present  employed  in  emptying 
slops.  The  old  woman  is  dead  from  a  kick  given 

her  by  a  eunuch  in  the  breast.    Brother  Giroflee  has 
Vol.  1—16 


242  Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

entered  among  the  janissaries.  Miss  Cunegund  has 
recovered  her  plumpness  and  former  beauty ;  she  is 
in  our  master's  seraglio."  "What  a  chain  of  mis- 
fortunes," said  Candide.  "Was  there  a  necessity  for 
Miss  Cunegund  to  become  handsome  only  to  make 
me  a  cuckold?"  "It  matters  little,"  said  Pangloss, 
"whether  Miss  Cunegund  be  beautiful  or  ugly,  in 
your  arms  or  those  of  another;  that  is  nothing  to 
the  general  system.  For  my  part,  I  wish  her  a 
numerous  progeny.  Philosophers  do  not  perplex 
themselves  by  whom  women  have  children,  pro- 
vided they  have  them.  Population — "  "Alas!"  ex- 
claimed Martin,  "philosophers  might  much  better 
employ  themselves  in  rendering  a  few  individuals 
happy,  than  engaging  them  to  multiply  the  number 
of  sufferers."  While  they  were  thus  arguing,  a  great 
noise  was  heard  on  a  sudden;  it  was  the  admiral 
diverting  himself  by  causing  a  dozen  slaves  to  be 
whipped.  Pangloss  and  Candide,  both  frightened, 
with  tears  in  their  eyes,  parted  from  their  friends, 
and  in  all  haste  took  the  road  to  Constantinople. 

There  they  found  all  the  people  in  a  great  stir.  A 
fire  had  broken  out  in  the  suburb  of  Pera ;  five  or  six 
hundred  houses  were  already  consumed,  and  two  or 
three  thousand  persons  perished  in  the  flames. 
"What  a  horrible  disaster,"  cried  Candide!  "All  is 
well,"  said  Pangloss,  "these  little  accidents  happen 
every  year.  It  is  entirely  natural  for  the  fire  to  catch 
houses  built  of  wood,  and  for  those  who  are  in  them 
to  be  burned.  Besides,  this  procures  some  resources 


Candidc ;  or,  The  Optimist.          243- 

to  honest  people,  who  languish  in  misery."  "What 
is  this  I  hear?"  said  an  officer  of  the  sublime  porte. 
"How,  wretch,  darest  thou  say  that  all  is  well  when 
half  Constantinople  is  in  flames.  Dog,  be  cursed  of 
our  prophet,  receive  the  punishment  due  to  thy  im- 
pudence!" And  as  he  uttered  these  words  he  took 
Pangloss  by  the  middle  and  flung  him  headlong  into 
the  flames.  Candide,  half  dead  with  fright,  crept 
on  all  fours  as  well  as  he  could  to  a  neighboring 
quarter,  where  all  was  more  quiet ;  and  we  shall  see 
what  became  of  him  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CANDIDE  CONTINUES  HIS  TRAVELS. 

"I  HAVE  nothing  left,"  said  our  philosopher,  "but 
to  make  myself  either  a  slave  or  a  Turk.  Happiness 
has  forsaken  me  forever.  A  turban  would  corrupt 
all  my  pleasures.  I  shall  be  incapable  of  tasting 
tranquillity  of  soul  in  a  religion  full  of  imposture, 
into  which  I  enter  merely  from  a  motive  of  vile  in- 
terest. No,  I  shall  never  be  content  if  I  cease  to  be 
an  honest  man;  let  me  make  myself  then  a  slave." 
Candide  had  no  sooner  taken  this  resolution  than 
he  set  about  putting  it  into  execution.  He  chose  an 
Armenian  merchant  for  his  master,  who  was  a  man 
of  a  very  good  character,  and  passed  for  virtuous,  as 
much  as  an  Armenian  can  be.  He  gave  Candide 
two  hundred  sequins  as  the  price  of  his  liberty.  The 


244          Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

Armenian  was  upon  the  point  of  departing  for  Nor- 
way; he  took  Candide  with  him,  in  the  hope  that  a 
philosopher  would  be  of  use  to  him  in  his  traffic. 
They  embarked,  and  the  wind  was  so  favorable  for 
them  that  they  were  not  above  half  the  usual  time  in 
their  passage.  They  even  had  no  occasion  for  buy- 
ing a  wind  from  the  Lapland  witches,  and  contented 
themselves  with  giving  them  some  stock-fish,  that 
they  might  not  disturb  their  good  fortune  with  their 
enchantments ;  which  sometimes  happens,  if  we  may 
believe  Moreri's  dictionary  on  this  head. 

The  Armenian  no  sooner  landed  than  he  provided 
a  stock  of  whale-blubber  and  ordered  our  philoso- 
pher to  go  over  all  the  country  to  buy  him  some 
dried  salt  fish;  Candide  acquitted  himself  of  his 
commission  in  the  best  manner  possible,  returned 
with  several  reindeer  loaded  with  this  merchandise, 
and  made  profound  reflections  on  the  astonishing 
difference  which  is  to  be  found  between  the  Lap- 
landers and  other  men.  A  very  diminutive  female 
Laplander,  whose  head  was  a  little  bigger  than  her 
body,  her  eyes  red  and  full  of  fire,  a  flat  nose  and 
very  wide  mouth,  wished  him  a  good  day  with  an 
infinite  grace.  "My  little  lord,"  said  this  being  (a 
foot  and  ten  inches  high)  to  him,  "I  think  you 
very  handsome ;  do  me  the  favor  to  love  me  a  little." 
So  saying,  she  flew  to  him  and  caught  him  round  the 
neck.  Candide  pushed  her  away  with  horror.  She 
cried  out,  when  her  husband  came  in  with  several 
other  Laplanders.  "What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist          245 

uproar?"  said  they.  "It  is,"  answered  the  little 
thing,  "that  this  stranger — Alas !  I  am  choked  with 
grief;  he  despises  me."  "So,  then,"  said  the  Lap- 
land husband,  "thou  impolite,  dishonest,  brutal, 
infamous,  cowardly  rascal,  thou  bringest  disgrace 
upon  my  house ;  thou  dost  me  the  most  sensible  in- 
jury; thou  refusest  to  embrace  my  wife."  "Lo! 
here's  a  strange  custom,"  cried  our  hero;  "what 
would  you  have  said,  then,  if  I  had  embraced  her?" 
"I  would  have  wished  thee  all  sort  of  prosperity," 
said  the  Laplander  to  him  in  wrath ;  "but  thou  only 
deservest  my  indignation."  At  uttering  this  he  dis- 
charged on  Candide's  back  a  volley  of  blows  with 
a  cudgel.  The  reindeer  were  seized  by  the  relatives 
of  the  offended  husband,  and  Candide,  for  fear  of 
worse,  was  forced  to  betake  himself  to  flight  and  re- 
nounce forever  his  good  master;  for  how  dared  he 
present  himself  before  him  without  money,  whale- 
blubber,  or  reindeer? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CANDIDE   STILL    CONTINUES   HIS   TRAVELS — NEW    AD- 
VENTURES. 

CANDIDE  travelled  a  long  time  without  knowing 
whither  he  was  going.  At  length  he  resolved  to  go 
to  Denmark,  where  he  had  heard  that  everything 
went  pretty  well.  He  had  a  few  pieces  of  money 
about  him,  which  the  Armenian  had  made  him  a 


246  Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist. 

present  of ;  and  this  sum,  though  inconsiderable,  he 
hoped  would  carry  him  to  the  end  of  his  journey. 
Hope  rendered  his  misery  supportable  to  him,  and 
he  still  passed  some  happy  moments.  He  found 
himself  one  day  in  an  inn  with  three  travellers,  who 
talked  to  him  with  great  warmth  about  a  plenum 
and  the  materia  subtilis.  "This  is  well,"  said  Can- 
dide to  himself,  "these  are  philosophers.  Gentle- 
men," said  he  to  them,  "a  pletmm  is  incontestable; 
there  is  no  vacuum  in  nature,  and  the  materia  sub- 
tilis is  a  well-imagined  hypothesis."  "You  are  then 
a  Cartesian?"  cried  the  three  travellers.  "Yes,"  an- 
swered Candide,  "and  a  Leibnitzian,  which  is  more." 
"So  much  the  worse  for  you,"  replied  the  philoso- 
phers. "Descartes  and  Leibnitz  had  not  common 
sense.  We  are  Newtonians,  and  we  glory  in  it;  if 
we  dispute,  it  is  only  the  better  to  confirm  ourselves 
in  our  opinions,  and  we  all  think  the  same.  We 
search  for  truth  in  Newton's  tract,  because  we  are 
persuaded  that  Newton  is  a  very  great  man."  "And 
Descartes,  too,  and  Leibnitz  and  Pangloss  likewise," 
said  Candide ;  "these  great  men  are  worth  a  thou- 
sand of  yours."  "You  are  a  fool,  friend,"  answered 
the  philosophers ;  "do  you  know  the  laws  of  refrac- 
tion, attraction,  and  motion?  Have  you  read  the 
truths  which  Dr.  Clarke  has  published  in  answer  to 
the  vagaries  of  your  Leibnitz  ?  Do  you  know  what 
centrifugal  and  centripetal  force  is?  and  that  colors 
depend  on  their  density?  Have  you  any  notion  of 
the  theory  of  light  and  gravitation?  Do  you  know 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          247 

the  period  of  twenty-five  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
twenty  years,  which  unluckily  do  not  agree  with 
chronology?  No,  undoubtedly,  you  have  but  false 
ideas  of  all  these  things ;  peace  then,  thou  contempt- 
ible monad,  and  beware  how  you  insult  giants  by 
comparing  them  to  pygmies."  "Gentlemen,"  an- 
swered Candide,  "were  Pangloss  here,  he  would  tell 
you  very  fine  things ;  for  he  is  a  great  philosopher ; 
he  has  a  sovereign  contempt  for  your  Newton ;  and, 
as  I  am  his  disciple,  I  likewise  make  no  great  ac- 
count of  him."  The  philosophers,  enraged  beyond 
measure,  fell  upon  poor  Candide  and  drubbed  him 
most  philosophically. 

Their  wrath  subsiding,  they  asked  our  hero's  par- 
don for  their  too  great  warmth.  Upon  this  one  of 
them  began  a  very  fine  harangue  on  mildness  and 
moderation. 

While  they  were  talking  they  saw  a  grand  funeral 
procession  pass  by ;  our  philosophers  thence  took  oc- 
casion to  descant  on  the  foolish  vanity  of  man. 
"Would  it  not  be  more  reasonable,"  said  one  of 
them,  "that  the  relatives  and  friends  of  the  deceased 
should,  without  pomp  and  noise,  carry  the  bier  them- 
selves? would  not  this  funeral  act,  by  presenting 
to  them  the  idea  of  death,  produce  an  effect  the  most 
salutary,  the  most  philosophical?  This  reflection, 
which  would  offer  itself,  namely,  'the  body  I  carry 
is  that  of  my  friend,  my  relative;  he  is  no  more; 
and,  like  him,  I  must  cease  to  be  in  this  world ;' 
would  not  this,  I  say,  be  a  means  of  lessening  the 


248  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

number  of  crimes  in  this  vile  world,  and  of  bringing 
back  to  virtue  beings  who  believe  in  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  ?  Men  are  too  much  inclined  to  remove 
from  them  the  thoughts  of  death,  for  fear  of  pre- 
senting too  strong  images  of  it.  Whence  is  it  that 
people  keep  at  a  distance  from  such  a  spectacle  as 
a  mother  and  a  wife  in  tears  ?  The  plaintive  accents 
of  nature,  the  piercing  cries  of  despair,  would  do 
much  greater  honor  to  the  ashes  of  the  dead,  than  all 
these  individuals  clad  in  black  from  head  to  foot,  to- 
gether with  useless  female  mourners,  and  that  crowd 
of  ministers  who  sing  funeral  orations  which  the  de- 
ceased cannot  hear." 

"This  is  extremely  well  spoken,"  said  Candide; 
"and  did  you  always  speak  thus  well,  without  think- 
ing proper  to  beat  people,  you  would  be  a  great  phi- 
losopher." 

Our  travellers  parted  with  expressions  of  mutual 
confidence  and  friendship.  Candide  still  continued 
travelling  towards  Denmark.  He  plunged  into  the 
woods ;  where,  musing  deeply  on  all  the  misfortunes 
which  had  happened  to  him  in  the  best  of  worlds,  he 
turned  aside  from  the  road  and  lost  himself.  The 
day  began  to  draw  towards  the  evening,  when  he 
perceived  his  mistake;  he  was  seized  with  dismay, 
and  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  leaning  against 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  our  hero  spoke  in  the  following 
terms:  "I  have  gone  over  half  the  world;  seen 
fraud  and  calumny  triumphant ;  have  only  sought  to 
do  service  to  mankind,  and  I  have  been  persecuted. 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          249 

A  great  king  honors  me  with  his  favor  and  fifty 
blows.  I  arrive  with  a  wooden  leg  in  a  very  fine 
province ;  there  I  taste  pleasures  after  having  drunk 
deep  of  mortifications.  An  abbe  comes;  I  protect 
him;  he  insinuates  himself  at  court  through  my 
means,  and  I  am  obliged  to  kiss  his  feet.  I  meet 
with  my  poor  Pangloss  only  to  see  him  burned.  I 
find  myself  in  company  with  philosophers,  the  mild- 
est and  most  sociable  of  all  the  species  of  animals  that 
are  spread  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  they  give 
me  an  unmerciful  drubbing.  All  must  necessarily 
be  for  the  best,  since  Pangloss  has  said  it ;  but  nev- 
ertheless I  am  the  most  wretched  of  all  possible 
beings."  Here  Candide  stopped  short  to  listen  to 
the  cries  of  distress  which  seemed  to  come  from  a 
place  near  him.  He  stepped  forward  out  of  curi- 
osity, when  he  beheld  a  young  woman  who  was  tear- 
ing her  hair  as  if  in  the  greatest  despair.  "Who- 
ever you  are,"  said  she  to  him,  "if  you  have  a  heart, 
follow  me."  He  went  with  her,  but  they  had  not 
gone  many  paces  before  Candide  perceived  a  man 
and  a  woman  stretched  out  on  the  grass.  Their 
faces  declared  the  nobleness  of  their  souls  and 
origin ;  their  features,  though  distorted  by  pain,  had 
something  so  interesting  that  Candide  could  not  for- 
bear informing  himself  with  a  lively  eagerness  about 
the  cause  which  reduced  them  to  so  miserable  a  sit- 
uation. "It  is  my  father  and  mother  whom  you  see," 
explained  the  young  woman ;  "yes,  these  are  the 
authors  of  my  wretched  being,"  continued  she. 


250  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

throwing  herself  into  their  arms.  "They  fled  to  avoid 
the  rigor  of  an  unjust  sentence;  I  accompanied 
them  in  their  flight,  happy  to  share  in  their  mis- 
fortune, thinking  that  in  the  deserts  where  we  were 
going  to  hide  ourselves  my  feeble  hands  might  pro- 
cure them  a  necessary  subsistence.  We  have  stopped 
here  to  take  some  rest ;  I  discovered  that  tree  which 
you  see,  whose  fruit  has  deceived  me — alas!  sir,  I 
am  a  wretch  to  be  detested  by  the  world  and  myself. 
Arm  your  hand  to  avenge  offended  virtue,  and  to 
punish  the  parricide!  Strike!  This  fruit  I  pre- 
sented to  my  father  and  mother ;  they  ate  of  it  with 
pleasure;  I  rejoiced  to  have  found  the  means  of 
quenching  the  thirst  with  which  they  were  tor- 
mented— unhappy  wretch !  it  was  death  I  presented 
to  them;  this  fruit  is  poison." 

This  tale  made  Candide  shudder;  his  hair  stood  on 
end  and  a  cold  sweat  ran  over  all  his  body.  He  was 
eager,  as  much  as  his  present  condition  could  permit, 
to  give  some  relief  to  this  unfortunate  family ;  but 
the  poison  had  already  made  too  much  progress; 
and  the  most  efficacious  remedies  would  not  have 
been  able  to  stop  its  fatal  effect. 

"Dear  child,  our  only  hope!"  cried  the  two  un- 
happy parents,  "God  pardon  thee  as  we  pardon  thee ; 
it  was  the  excess  of  thy  tenderness  which  has  robbed 
us  of  our  lives.  Generous  stranger,  vouchsafe  to 
take  care  of  her;  her  heart  is  noble  and  formed  to 
virtue ;  she  is  a  trust  which  we  leave  in  your  hands 
that  is  infinitely  more  precious  to  us  than  our  past 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          251 

fortune.  Dear  Zenoida,  receive  our  last  embraces ; 
mingle  thy  tears  with  ours.  Heavens !  how  happy 
are  these  moments  to  us!  Thou  hast  opened  to  us 
the  dreary  cave  in  which  we  languished  for  forty 
years  past.  Tender  Zenoida,  we  bless  thee;  mayest 
thou  never  forget  the  lessons  which  our  prudence 
hath  dictated  to  thee;  and  may  they  preserve  thee 
from  the  abyss  which  we  see  ready  to  swallow  thee." 
They  expired  as  they  pronounced  these  words. 
Candide  had  great  difficulty  to  bring  Zenoida  to 
herself.  The  moon  enlightened  the  affecting  scene ; 
the  day  appeared,  and  Zenoida,  plunged  in  sorrow, 
had  not  as  yet  recovered  the  use  of  her  senses.  As 
soon  as  she  opened  her  eyes  she  entreated  Candide 
to  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground  in  order  to  inter  the 
bodies ;  she  assisted  in  the  work  with  an  astonishing 
courage.  This  duty  fulfilled,  she  gave  free  scope  to 
her  tears.  Our  philosopher  drew  her  from  this  fatal 
place ;  they  travelled  a  long  time  without  observing 
any  certain  route.  At  length  they  perceived  a  little 
cottage ;  two  persons  in  the  decline  of  life  dwelt  in 
this  desert,  who  were  always  ready  to  give  every  as- 
sistance in  their  power  to  their  fellow-creatures  in 
distress.  These  old  people  were  such  as  Philemon 
and  Baucis  are  described  to  us.  For  fifty  years  they 
had  tasted  the  soft  endearments  of  marriage,  without 
ever  experiencing  its  bitterness;  an  unimpaired 
health,  the  fruit  of  temperance  and  tranquillity  of 
mind,  mild  and  simple  manners;  a  fund  of  inex- 
haustible candor  in  their  character;  all  the  virtues 


252  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

which  man  owes  to  himself,  formed  the  glorious  and 
only  fortune  which  heaven  had  granted  them.  They 
were  held  in  veneration  in  the  neighboring  villages, 
the  inhabitants  of  which,  full  of  a  happy  rusticity, 
might  have  passed  for  honest  people,  had  they  been 
Catholics.  They  looked  upon  it  as  a  duty  not  to 
suffer  Agaton  and  Sunama  (for  so  the  old  couple 
were  called)  to  want  for  anything.  Their  charity 
extended  to  the  newcomers.  "Alas !"  said  Candide, 
"it  is  a  great  loss,  my  dear  Pangloss,  that  you  were 
burned ;  you  were  master  of  sound  reason ;  but  yet 
in  all  the  parts  of  Europe  and  Asia  which  I  have 
travelled  over  in  your  company,  everything  is  not 
for  the  best.  It  is  only  in  El  Dorado,  whither  no  one 
can  go,  and  in  a  little  cottage  situated  in  the  coldest, 
most  barren,  and  frightful  region  in  the  world. 
What  pleasure  should  I  have  to  hear  you  harangue 
about  the  pre-established  harmony  and  monads!  I 
should  be  very  willing  to  pass  my  days  among  these 
honest  Lutherans;  but  I  must  renounce  going  to 
mass,  and  resolve  to  be  torn  to  pieces  in  the  Journal 
Chretien." 

Candide  was  very  inquisitive  to  learn  the  adven- 
tures of  Zenoida,  but  compassion  withheld  him  from 
speaking  to  her  about  it ;  she  perceived  the  respect- 
ful constraint  he  put  upon  himself,  and  satisfied  his 
impatience  in  the  following  terms : 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          253 
CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    HISTORY   OF   ZENOIDA — HOW    CANDIDE    FELL   IN 
LOVE    WITH    HER. 

"I  AM  come  of  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in 
Denmark;  one  of  my  ancestors  perished  at  that 
horrid  feast  which  the  wicked  Christiern  prepared 
for  the  destruction  of  so  many  senators.  The  riches 
and  dignities  with  which  our  family  has  been  dis- 
tinguished have  hitherto  served  only  to  make  them 
more  eminently  unfortunate.  My  father  had  the 
presumption  to  displease  a  great  man  in  power  by 
boldly  telling  him  the  truth ;  he  was  presently  accused 
by  suborned  witnesses  of  a  number  of  crimes  which 
had  no  foundation.  His  judges  were  deceived. 
Alas!  where  is  that  judge  who  can  always  discover 
those  snares  which  envy  and  treachery  lay  for  un- 
guarded innocence?  My  father  was  sentenced  to 
be  beheaded.  He  had  no  way  left  to  avoid  his  fate 
but  by  flight ;  accordingly  he  withdrew  to  the  house 
of  an  old  friend,  whom  he  thought  deserving  of  that 
truly  noble  appellation ;  we  remained  some  time  con- 
cealed in  a  castle  belonging  to  him  on  the  seaside; 
and  we  might  have  continued  there  to  this  day,  had 
not  the  base  wretch  with  whom  we  had  taken  refuge 
attempted  to  repay  himself  for  the  services  rendered 
us  in  a  manner  that  gave  us  all  reason  to  detest  him. 
This  infamous  monster  had  conceived  a  most  un- 
natural passion  for  my  mother  and  myself  at  the 
same  time ;  he  attempted  our  virtue  by  methods  the 


254  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

most  unworthy  of  a  man  of  honor;  and  we  were 
obliged  to  expose  ourselves  to  the  most  dreadful 
dangers  to  avoid  the  effects  of  his  brutal  passion. 
In  a  word,  we  took  to  flight  a  second  time,  and  you 
know  the  rest." 

In  finishing  this  short  narrative,  Zenoida  burst 
into  tears  afresh.  Candide  wiped  them  from  her 
eyes,  and  said  to  her,  by  way  of  consolation,  "Mad- 
am, everything  is  for  the  best;  if  your  father  had 
not  died  by  poison  he  would  infallibly  have  been  dis- 
covered, and  then  his  head  would  have  been  cut  off. 
The  good  lady,  your  mother,  would  in  all  probability 
have  died  of  grief,  and  we  should  not  have  been  in 
this  poor  hut,  where  everything  is  as  comfortable  as 
in  the  finest  of  possible  castles."  "Alas!  sir,"  re- 
plied Zenoida,  "my  father  never  told  me  that  every- 
thing was  for  the  best;  but  he  has  often  said,  'We 
are  all  children  of  the  same  divine  father,  who  loves 
us,  but  who  has  not  exempted  us  from  sorrows,  the 
most  grievous  maladies,  and  an  innumerable  tribe 
of  miseries  that  afflict  the  human  race.  Poison 
grows  by  the  side  of  the  efficacious  quinquina  in 
America.  The  happiest  of  all  mortals  has  some  time 
or  other  shed  tears.  What  we  call  life  is  a  com- 
pound of  pleasure  and  pain ;  it  is  the  passing  away 
of  a  certain  stated  portion  of  time  that  always  ap- 
pears too  long  in  the  sight  of  the  wise  man,  and 
which  every  one  ought  to  employ  in  doing  good  to 
the  community  in  which  he  is  placed ;  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  works  of  Providence,  without  idly  seek- 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          255 

ing  after  hidden  causes ;  in  squaring  his  conduct  by 
the  rules  of  conscience ;  and,  above  all,  in  showing  a 
due  respect  to  religion.  Happy  is  he  who  can  follow 
this  unerringly!' 

"These  things  my  ever-respected  father  has  fre- 
quently inculcated  in  me.  'Ill  betide  those  wretched 
scribblers,'  he  would  often  say,  'who  attempt  to  pry 
into  the  hidden  ways  of  Providence.  From  the 
principle  that  God  will  be  honored  from  thousands 
of  atoms,  mankind  has  blended  the  most  absurd 
chimeras  with  respectable  truths.  The  Turkish  der- 
vish, the  Persian  brahmin,  the  Chinese  bonze,  and 
the  Indian  talapoin,  all  worship  the  Deity  in  a  differ- 
ent manner;  but  they  enjoy  a  tranquillity  of  soul 
amidst  the  darkness  in  which  they  are  plunged ;  and 
he  who  would  endeavor  to  enlighten  them,  does 
them  but  ill  service.  It  is  not  loving  mankind  to  tear 
the  bandage  of  prejudice  from  their  eyes.' " 

"Why,  you  talk  like  a  philosopher,"  said  Can- 
dide; "may  I  ask  you,  my  pretty  young  lady,  of 
what  religion  you  are?"  "I  was  brought  up  in  the 
Lutheran  profession,"  answered  Zenoida.  "Every 
word  you  have  spoken,"  said  Candide,  "has  been 
like  a  ray  of  light  that  has  penetrated  to  my  heart, 
and  I  find  a  sort  of  esteem  and  admiration  for  you, 
that — but  how,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  came  so 
bright  an  understanding  to  be  lodged  in  so  beautiful 
a  form?  Upon  my  word,  Miss,  I  esteem  and  admire 
you,  as  I  said  before,  so  much  that — "  Candide 
stammered  out  a  few  words  more,  when  Zenoida, 


256  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

perceiving  his  confusion,  quitted  him,  and  from  that 
moment  carefully  avoided  all  occasions  of  being 
alone  with  him;  and  Candide,  on  his  part,  sought 
every  opportunity  of  being  alone  with  her,  or  else 
remained  alone.  He  was  buried  in  a  melancholy 
that  to  him  had  charms;  he  was  deeply  enamored 
of  Zenoida;  but  endeavored  to  conceal  his  passion 
from  himself.  His  looks,  however,  too  plainly 
evinced  the  feelings  of  his  heart.  "Alas !"  would  he 
often  say  to  himself,  "if  Master  Pangloss  was  here, 
he  would  give  me  good  advice ;  for  he  was  a  great 
philosopher." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONTINUATION  OF  THE  LOVES  OF  CANDIDE. 

THE  only  consolation  that  Candide  felt  was  in 
conversing  with  Zenoida  in  the  presence  of  their 
hosts.  "How  happens  it,"  said  he  to  her  one  day, 
"that  the  monarch  to  whom  you  have  access  has  suf- 
fered such  injustice  to  be  done  to  your  family?  As- 
suredly you  have  sufficient  reason  to  hate  him?" 
"How!"  said  Zenoida,  "who  can  hate  their  king? 
who  can  do  otherwise  than  love  that  person  to 
whose  hand  is  consigned  the  keen-edged  sword  of 
the  laws  ?  Kings  are  the  living  images  of  the  Deity, 
and  we  ought  never  to  arraign  their  conduct ;  obe- 
dience and  respect  is  the  duty  of  a  subject."  "I  ad- 
mire you  more  and  more,"  said  Candide;  "indeed, 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist          257 

madam,  I  do;  pray,  do  you  know  the  great  Leib- 
nitz, and  the  great  Pangloss,  who  was  burned,  after 
having  escaped  a  hanging  ?  are  you  acquainted  with 
the  monads,  the  materia  subtilis,  and  the  vortices?' 
"No,  sir,"  replied  Zenoida;  "I  never  heard  my  father 
mention  any  of  these ;  he  only  gave  me  a  slight  tinc- 
ture of  experimental  philosophy,  and  taught  me  to 
hold  in  contempt  all  those  kinds  of  philosophy  that 
do  not  directly  tend  to  make  mankind  happy ;  that 
give  him  false  notions  of  his  duty  to  himself  and  his 
neighbor ;  that  do  not  teach  him  to  regulate  his  con- 
duct, and  fill  his  mind  only  with  uncouth  terms,  or 
ill-founded  conjectures;  that  do  not  give  him  a 
clearer  idea  of  the  author  of  nature  than  what  he 
may  acquire  from  his  works,  and  the  wonders  that 
are  every  day  passing  before  our  sight."  "Once 
again,  Miss,  you  enchant  me;  you  ravish  me;  you 
are  an  angel  that  heaven  has  sent  to  remove 
from  before  my  eyes  the  mist  of  Master  Pangloss' 
sophistical  arguments.  Poor  wretch  that  I  was! 
After  having  been  so  heartily  kicked,  flogged,  and 
bastinadoed;  after  having  been  in  an  earthquake; 
having  seen  Doctor  Pangloss  once  hanged,  and  very 
lately  burned ;  after  having  been  outraged  by  a  vil- 
lainous Persian,  who  put  me  to  the  most  excruciating 
torture ;  after  having  been  robbed  by  a  decree  of  the 
divan,  and  soundly  drubbed  by  the  philosophers; 
after  all  these  things,  I  say,  to  think  that  everything 
was  for  the  best!  but  now,  thank  heaven!  I  am 

disabused.     But,  truly  speaking,  nature  never  ap- 
Vol.  1—17 


258  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

peared  half  so  charming  to  me  as  since  I  have  been 
blessed  with  the  sight  of  you.  The  melody  of  the 
rural  choristers  charms  my  ears  with  a  harmony  to 
which  they  were  till  now  utter  strangers ;  I  breathe 
a  new  soul,  and  the  glow  of  sentiment  that  enchants 
me  seems  imprinted  on  every  object;  I  do  not  feel 
that  effeminate  languor  which  I  did  in  the  gardens 
of  Sus;  the  sensation  with  which  you  inspire  me  is 
wholly  different."  "Let  us  stop  here,"  said  Zenoida ; 
"you  seem  to  be  running  to  lengths  that  may,  per- 
haps, offend  my  delicacy,  which  you  ought  to  re- 
spect." "I  will  be  silent,  then,"  said  Candide ;  "but 
my  passion  will  only  burn  with  the  more  force."  On 
saying  these  words,  he  looked  steadfastly  at  Zeno- 
ida; he  perceived  that  she  blushed,  and,  as  a  man 
who  was  taught  by  experience,  conceived  the  most 
flattering  hopes  from  those  appearances. 

The  beautiful  Dane  continued  a  long  time  to  shun 
the  presence  of  Candide.  One  day,  as  he  was  walk- 
ing hastily  to  and  fro  in  the  garden,  he  cried  out  in 
an  amorous  ecstasy,  "Ah !  why  have  I  not  now  my 
El  Dorado  sheep !  why  have  I  not  the  power  to  pur- 
chase a  small  kingdom !  ah !  were  I  but  a  king !" 
"What  should  I  be  to  you?"  said  a  voice  which 
pierced  the  heart  of  our  philosopher.  "Is  it  you, 
lovely  Zenoida?"  cried  he,  falling  on  his  knees.  "I 
thought  myself  alone.  The  few  words  I  heard  you 
just  now  utter  seem  to  promise  me  the  felicity  to 
which  my  soul  aspires.  I  shall,  in  all  probability, 
never  be  a  king,  nor  ever  possessed  of  a  fortune; 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          259 

but,  if  you  love  me — do  not  turn  from  me  those 
lovely  eyes,  but  suffer  me  to  read  in  them  a  declara- 
tion which  is  alone  capable  of  confirming  my  happi- 
ness. Beauteous  Zenoida,  I  adore  you;  let  your 
heart  be  open  to  compassion — what  do  I  see!  you 
weep !  Ah !  my  happiness  is  too  great."  "Yes,  you 
are  happy,"  said  Zenoida;  "nothing  can  oblige  me 
to  disguise  my  tenderness  for  a  person  I  think  de- 
serving of  it :  hitherto  you  have  been  attached  to  my 
destiny  only  by  the  bands  of  humanity;  it  is  now 
time  to  strengthen  those  by  ties  most  sacred ;  I  have 
consulted  my  heart,  reflect  maturely  in  your  turn; 
but  remember,  that  if  you  marry  me,  you  become 
obliged  to  be  my  protector ;  to  share  with  me  those 
misfortunes  that  fate  may  yet  have  in  store  for  me, 
and  to  soothe  my  sorrows."  "Marry  you !"  said  Can- 
dide ;  "those  words  have  shown  me  all  the  folly  of 
my  conduct.  Alas!  dear  idol  of  my  soul,  I  am 
not  deserving  of  the  goodness  you  show  towards 
me.  Cunegund  is  still  living — "  "Cunegund !  who 
is  that?"  "She  is  my  wife,"  answered  Candide, 
with  his  usual  frankness. 

Our  two  lovers  remained  some  moments  without 
uttering  a  word ;  they  attempted  to  speak,  but  the 
accents  died  away  on  their  lips;  their  eyes  were 
bathed  in  tears.  Candide  held  the  fair  Zenoida's 
hands  in  his ;  he  pressed  them  to  his  breast,  and  de- 
voured them  with  kisses ;  he  had  even  the  boldness 
to  carry  his  to  the  bosom  of  his  mistress ;  he  found 
her  breath  grew  short ;  his  soul  flew  to  his  lips,  and 


a6o          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

fixing  his  mouth  with  ardor  to  that  of  Zenoida,  he 
brought  the  fair  one  back  to  those  senses  which  she 
had  nearly  lost.  Candide  thought  he  read  his  par- 
don in  her  eyes.  "Dearest  lover,"  said  she  to  him, 
"anger  would  but  ill  suit  with  the  liberty  which  I 
myself  have  given.  Yet  hold,  you  will  ruin  me  in  the 
opinion  of  the  world ;  and  you  yourself  would  soon 
cease  to  have  an  affection  for  me,  when  once  I  was 
become  the  object  of  contempt.  Forbear,  therefore, 
and  spare  my  weakness."  "How!"  cried  Candide, 
"because  the  ill- judging  vulgar  say  that  a  woman 
loses  her  honor  by  bestowing  happiness  on  a  being 
whom  she  loves,  by  following  the  tender  bent  of  na- 
ture, that  in  the  first  happy  ages  of  the  world — " 
But  I  will  forbear  to  relate  the  whole  of  the  interest- 
ing conversation,  and  content  myself  with  saying 
that  the  eloquence  of  Candide,  heightened  by  the 
warmth  of  amorous  expression,  had  all  the  effect 
that  may  be  imagined  on  a  young,  sensible,  female 
philosopher. 

The  lovers,  who  till  then  had  passed  their  days  in 
tedious  melancholy,  now  counted  every  hour  by  a 
fresh  succession  of  amorous  joys.  Pleasure  flowed 
through  their  veins  in  an  uninterrupted  current. 
The  gloomy  woods,  the  barren  mountains,  sur- 
rounded by  horrid  precipices,  the  icy  plains  and 
dreary  fields,  covered  with  snow  on  all  sides,  were 
so  many  continual  mementoes  to  them  of  the  neces- 
sity of  loving.  They  determined  never  to  quit  that 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          261 

dreadful  solitude,  but  fate  was  not  yet  weary  of 
persecuting  them,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  ensuing 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF   WOLHALL — A  JOURNEY  TO   COPEN- 
HAGEN. 

CANDIDE  and  Zenoida  amused  themselves  with 
discoursing  on  the  works  of  the  Deity,  the  worship 
which  mankind  ought  to  pay  Him,  the  mutual  duties 
they  owe  to  each  other,  especially  that  of  charity, 
the  most  useful  of  all  virtues.  They  did  not  confine 
themselves  to  frivolous  declamations.  Candide 
taught  the  young  men  the  respect  due  to  the  sacred 
restraints  of  the  laws ;  Zenoida  instructed  the  young 
women  in  the  duties  they  owed  their  parents ;  both 
joined  their  endeavors  to  sow  the  hopeful  seeds  of 
religion  in  their  young  hearts.  One  day,  as  they 
were  busied  in  those  pious  offices,  Sunama  came  to 
tell  Zenoida  that  an  old  gentleman  with  several 
servants  was  just  alighted  at  their  house ;  and  that, 
by  the  description  he  had  given  her  of  a  person  of 
whom  he  was  in  search,  she  was  certain  it  could  be 
no  other  than  Zenoida  herself.  This  stranger  had 
followed  Sunama  close  at  her  heels,  and  entered, 
before  she  had  done  speaking,  into  the  room  where 
were  Candide  and  Zenoida. 

At  sight  of  him  Zenoida  instantly  fainted  away; 


262          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

but  Wblhall,  not  in  the  least  affected  with  the  con- 
dition he  saw  her  in,  took  hold  of  her  hand,  and, 
pulling  her  to  him,  with  violence,  brought  her  to  her 
senses ;  which  she  had  no  sooner  recovered  than  she 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  "So,  niece,"  said  he,  with 
a  sarcastic  smile,  "I  find  you  in  very  good  company. 
I  do  not  wonder  you  prefer  this  habitation  to  the 
capital,  to  my  house,  and  the  company  of  your  fam- 
ily." "Yes,  sir,"  replied  Zenoida,  "I  do  prefer  this 
place,  where  dwell  simplicity  and  truth,  to  the  man- 
sions of  treason  and  imposture.  I  can  never  behold 
but  with  horror  that  place  where  first  began  my  mis- 
fortunes ;  where  I  have  had  so  many  proofs  of  your 
black  actions,  and  where  I  have  no  other  relative  but 
yourself."  "Come,  madam,"  said  Wolhall,  "follow 
me,  if  you  please;  for  you  must  accompany  me, 
even  if  you  should  faint  again."  Saying  this,  he 
dragged  her  to  the  door  of  the  house,  and  made  her 
get  into  a  post-chaise,  which  was  waiting  for  him. 
She  had  only  time  to  tell  Candide  to  follow,  and  to 
bestow  her  blessing  on  her  hosts,  with  promises  of 
rewarding  them  amply  for  their  generous  cares. 

A  domestic  of  Wolhall  was  moved  with  pity  at 
the  grief  in  which  he  saw  Candide  plunged;  he 
imagined  that  he  felt  no  other  concern  for  the  fair 
Dane  than  what  unfortunate  virtue  inspires :  he  pro- 
posed to  him  taking  a  journey  to  Copenhagen,  and 
he  facilitated  the  means  for  his  doing  it.  He  did 
more;  he  insinuated  to  him  that  he  might  be  ad- 
mitted as  one  of  Wolhall's  domestics,  if  he  had  no 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          263 

other  resources  than  going  to  service.  Candide  liked 
his  proposal;  and  had  no  sooner  arrived  than  his 
future  fellow-servant  presented  him  as  one  of  his 
relatives,  for  whom  he  would  be  answerable.  "Ras- 
cal," said  Wolhall  to  him,  "I  consent  to  grant  you 
the  honor  of  approaching  a  person  of  such  rank  as  I 
am:  never  forget  the  profound  respect  which  you 
owe  to  my  commands ;  execute  them  if  you  have 
sufficient  sagacity  for  it:  think  that  a  man  like  me 
degrades  himself  in  speaking  to  a  wretch  such  as 
you."  Our  philosopher  answered  with  great  hu- 
mility to  this  impertinent  discourse ;  and  from  that 
day  he  was  clad  in  his  master's  livery. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  joy  and  surprise  that 
Zenoida  felt  when  she  recognized  her  lover  among 
her  uncle's  servants.  She  threw  several  opportuni- 
ties in  the  way  of  Candide,  who  knew  how  to  profit 
by  them:  they  swore  eternal  constancy.  Zenoida 
had  some  unhappy  moments.  She  sometimes  re- 
proached herself  on  account  of  her  love  for  Candide ; 
she  vexed  him  sometimes  by  a  few  caprices :  but 
Candide  idolized  her ;  he  knew  that  perfection  is  not 
the  portion  of  man,  and  still  less  so  of  woman. 
Zenoida  resumed  her  good  humor.  The  kind  of  con- 
straint under  which  they  lay  rendered  their  pleasures 
the  more  lively;  they  were  still  happy. 


264          Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 
CHAPTER    XVI. 

HOW    CANDIDE    FOUND    HIS    WIFE    AGAIN    AND    LOST 
HIS     MISTRESS. 

OUR  hero  had  only  to  bear  with  the  haughty 
humors  of  his  master,  and  that  was  purchasing  his 
mistress'  favors  at  no  dear  rate.  Happy  love  is  not 
so  easily  concealed  as  many  imagine.  Our  lovers 
betrayed  themselves.  Their  connection  was  no 
longer  a  mystery,  but  to  the  short-sighted  eyes  of 
Wolhall;  all  the  domestics  knew  it.  Candide  re- 
ceived congratulations  on  that  head  which  made  him 
tremble ;  he  expected  the  storm  ready  to  burst  upon 
his  head,  and  did  not  doubt  but  a  person  who  had 
been  dear  to  him  was  upon  the  point  of  accelerating 
his  misfortune.  He  had  for  some  days  perceived  a 
face  resembling  Miss  Cunegund;  he  again  saw  the 
same  face  in  Wolhall's  courtyard :  the  object  which 
struck  him  was  poorly  clothed,  and  there  was  no 
likelihood  that  a  favorite  of  a  great  Mahometan 
should  be  found  in  the  courtyard  of  a  house  at 
Copenhagen.  This  disagreeable  object,  however, 
looked  at  Candide  very  attentively:  when,  coming 
up  to  him,  and  seizing  him  by  the  hair,  she  gave  him 
the  smartest  blow  on  the  face  with  her  open  hand 
that  he  had  received  for  some  time.  "I  am  not  de- 
ceived !"  cried  our  philosopher.  "O,  heavens !  who 
would  have  thought  it?  what  do  you  do  here,  after 
having  suffered  yourself  to  be  violated  by  a  follower 
of  Mahomet?  Go,  perfidious  spouse,  I  know  you 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          265 

not."  "Thou  shalt  know  me,"  replied  Cunegund, 
"by  my  outrageous  fury.  I  know  the  life  thou  lead- 
est,  thy  love  for  thy  master's  niece,  and  thy  con- 
tempt for  me.  Alas !  it  is  now  three  months  since  I 
quitted  the  seraglio,  because  I  was  there  good  for 
nothing  further.  A  merchant  has  bought  me  to 
mend  his  linen,  he  takes  me  along  with  him  when  he 
makes  a  voyage  to  this  country ;  Martin,  Cacambo, 
and  Pacquette,  whom  he  has  also  bought,  are  with 
me;  Doctor  Pangloss,  through  the  greatest  chance 
in  the  world,  was  in  the  same  vessel  as  a  passenger ; 
we  were  shipwrecked  some  miles  from  here ;  I  es- 
caped the  danger  with  the  faithful  Cacambo,  who,  I 
swear  to  thee,  has  a  skin  as  firm  as  thy  own :  I  be- 
hold thee  again,  and  find  thee  false.  Tremble  then, 
and  fear  everything  from  a  provoked  wife." 

Candide  was  quite  stupefied  at  this  affecting 
scene ;  he  had  suffered  Cunegund  to  depart,  without 
thinking  of  the  proper  measures  which  are  always  to 
be  taken  with  those  who  know  our  secrets,  when 
Cacambo  presented  himself  to  his  sight.  They  em- 
braced each  other  with  tenderness.  Candide  in- 
formed him  of  the  conversation  he  had  just  had ;  he 
was  very  much  affected  by  the  loss  of  the  great 
Pangloss,  who,  after  having  been  hanged  and 
burned,  was  at  last  unhappily  drowned.  They  spoke 
with  that  free  effusion  of  heart  which  friendship  in- 
spires. A  little  billet  thrown  in  at  the  window  by 
Zenoida  put  an  end  to  the  conversation.  Candide 
opened  it,  and  found  in  it  these  words : 


266  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

"Fly,  my  dear  lover,  all  is  discovered.  An  inno- 
cent propensity  which  nature  authorizes,  and  which 
hurts  no  one,  is  a  crime  in  the  eyes  of  credulous  and 
cruel  men.  Wolhall  has  just  left  my  chamber,  and 
has  treated  me  with  the  utmost  inhumanity:  he  is 
gone  to  obtain  an  order  for  thee  to  be  clapped  into  a 
dungeon,  there  to  perish.  Fly,  my  ever  dear  lover ; 
preserve  a  life  which  thou  canst  not  pass  any  longer 
near  me.  Those  happy  moments  are  no  more,  in 
which  we  gave  proofs  of  our  reciprocal  tenderness. 
Ah!  my  beloved,  how  hast  thou  offended  heaven, 
to  merit  so  harsh  a  fate?  But  I  wander  from  the 
purpose:  remember  always  thy  precious,  dear  Ze- 
noida,  and  thou,  my  dear  lover,  shalt  live  eternally 
within  my  heart — thou  hast  never  thoroughly  under- 
stood how  much  I  loved  thee — canst  thou  receive 
upon  my  inflamed  lips  my  last  adieu !  I  find  myself 
ready  to  join  my  unhappy  father  in  the  grave ;  the 
light  is  hateful  to  me;  it  serves  only  to  reveal 
crimes." 

Cacambo,  always  wise  and  prudent,  drew  Can- 
dide,  who  no  longer  was  himself,  along  with  him; 
they  made  the  best  of  their  way  out  of  the  city. 
Candide  opened  not  his  mouth,  and  they  were  al- 
ready a  good  way  from  Copenhagen,  before  he  was 
roused  from  that  lethargy  in  which  he  was  buried. 
At  last  he  looked  at  his  faithful  Cacambo,  and  spoke 
in  these  terms : 


Candida ;  or,  The  Optimist.          267 
CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOW  CANDIDE  HAD  A  MIND  TO  KILL   HIMSELF,  AND 
DID  NOT  DO  IT — WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  HIM  AT  AN 

INN. 

"DEAR  Cacambo,  formerly  my  valet,  now  my 
equal,  and  always  myfriend,thou  hast  borne  a  share 
in  my  misfortunes ;  thou  hast  given  me  salutary  ad- 
vice; and  thou  hast  been  witness  to  my  love  for 
Miss  Cunegund — "  "Alas!  my  old  master,"  said 
Cacambo,  "it  is  she  who  has  served  you  this  scurvy 
trick;  it  is  she  who,  after  having  learned  from 
your  fellow-servants,  that  your  love  for  Zenoida 
was  as  great  as  hers  for  you,  revealed  the  whole  to 
the  barbarous  Wolhall."  "If  this  is  so,"  said  Can- 
dide,  "I  have  nothing  further  to  do  but  die."  Our 
philosopher  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  little  knife, 
and  began  whetting  it  with  a  coolness  worthy  of  an 
ancient  Roman  or  an  Englishman.  "What  do  you 
mean  to  do?"  cried  Cacambo.  "To  cut  my  throat," 
answered  Candide.  "A  most  noble  thought!"  re- 
plied Cacambo;  "but  the  philosopher  ought  not  to 
take  any  resolution  but  upon  reflection :  you  will  al- 
ways have  it  in  your  power  to  kill  yourself,  if  your 
mind  does  not  alter.  Be  advised  by  me,  my  dear 
master;  defer  your  resolution  till  to-morrow;  the 
longer  you  delay  it,  the  more  courageous  will  the  ac- 
tion be."  "I  perceive  the  strength  of  thy  reasoning," 
said  Candide;  "besides,  if  I  should  cut  my  throat 


268  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

immediately,  the  Gazetteer  of  Trevoux  would  insult 
ray  memory:  I  am  determined,  therefore,  that  I 
will  not  kill  myself  till  two  or  three  days  hence." 
As  they  talked  thus  they  arrived  at  Elsinore,  a 
pretty  considerable  town,  not  far  from  Copenhagen ; 
there  they  lay  that  night,  and  Cacambo  hugged  him- 
self for  the  good  effect  which  sleep  had  produced 
upon  Candide.  They  left  the  town  at  daybreak. 
Candide,  still  the  philosopher,  (for  the  prejudices  of 
childhood  are  never  effaced)  entertained  his  friend 
Cacambo  on  the  subject  of  physical  good  and  evil, 
the  discourses  of  the  sage  Zenoida,  and  the  striking 
truths  which  he  had  learned  from  her  conversation. 
"Had  not  Pangloss  been  dead,"  said  he,  "I  should 
combat  his  system  in  a  victorious  manner.  God 
keep  me  from  becoming  a  Manichaean.  My  mistress 
taught  me  to  respect  the  impenetrable  veil  with 
which  the  Deity  envelopes  His  manner  of  operating 
upon  us.  It  is  perhaps  man  who  precipitates  him- 
self into  the  abyss  of  misfortunes  under  which  he 
groans.  From  a  frugivorous  animal  he  has  made 
himself  a  carnivorous  one.  The  savages  whom  we 
have  seen,  eat  only  Jesuits,  and  do  not  live  upon  bad 
terms  among  themselves.  These  savages,  if  there 
be  one  scattered  here  and  there  in  the  woods,  only 
subsisting  on  acorns  and  herbs,  are,  without  doubt, 
still  more  happy.  Society  has  given  birth  to  the 
greatest  crimes.  There  are  men  in  society,  who  are 
necessitated  by  their  condition  to  wish  the  death  of 
others.  The  shipwreck  of  a  vessel,  the  burning  of  a 


Candidc;  or,  The  Optimist.          269 

house,  and  the  loss  of  a  battle,  cause  sadness  in  one 
part  of  society,  and  give  joy  to  another.  All  is  very 
bad !  my  dear  Cacambo,  and  there  is  nothing  left  for 
a  philosopher  but  to  cut  his  own  throat  with  all 
imaginable  calmness."  "You  are  in  the  right,"  an- 
swered Cacambo ;  "but  I  perceive  an  inn ;  you  must 
be  very  dry.  Come,  my  old  master!  let  us  drink 
one  draught,  and  we  will  after  that  continue  our 
philosophical  disquisitions." 

When  they  entered  the  inn  they  saw  a  company 
of  country  lads  and  lassies  dancing  in  the  midst  of 
the  yard,  to  the  sound  of  some  wretched  instru- 
ments. Gayety  and  mirth  sat  in  every  countenance ; 
it  was  a  scene  worthy  the  pencil  of  Watteau.  As 
soon  as  Candide  appeared  a  young  woman  took  him 
by  the  hand,  and  entreated  him  to  dance  .  "My  pretty 
maid,"  answered  Candide,  "when  a  person  has  lost 
his  mistress,  found  his  wife  again,  and  heard  that  the 
great  Pangloss  is  dead,  he  can  have  little  or  no  in- 
clination to  cut  capers.  Moreover,  I  am  to  kill  my- 
self to-morrow  morning ;  and  you  know  that  a  man 
who  has  but  a  few  hours  to  live,  ought  not  to  lose 
them  in  dancing."  Cacambo,  hearing  Candide  talk 
thus,  addressed  him  in  these  terms:  "A  thirst  for 
glory  has  always  been  the  characteristic  of  great 
philosophers.  Cato  of  Utica  killed  himself  after 
having  taken  a  sound  nap.  Socrates  drank  the  hem- 
lock potion,  after  discoursing  familiarly  with  his 
friends.  Many  of  the  English  have  blown  their 
brains  out  with  a  pistol,  after  coming  from  an  en- 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

tertainment.  But  I  never  yet  heard  of  a  great  man 
who  cut  his  own  throat  after  a  dancing  bout.  It  is 
for  you,  my  dear  master,  that  this  honor  is  reserved. 
Take  my  advice,  let  us  dance  our  fill,  and  we  will  kill 
ourselves  to-morrow."  "Have  you  not  remarked," 
answered  Candide,  "this  young  country  girl  ?  Is  she 
not  a  very  pretty  brunette?"  "She  has  something 
very  taking  in  her  countenance,"  said  Cacambo. 
"She  has  squeezed  my  hand,"  replied  the  philoso- 
pher. "Did  you  notice,"  said  Cacambo,  "how  that 
in  the  hurry  of  the  dance,  her  handkerchief  falling 
aside,  disclosed  two  admirable  little  rosebuds?  I 
took  particular  notice  of  them."  "Look  you,"  said 
Candide,  "had  I  not  my  heart  filled  with  Miss  Ze- 
noida — ."  The  little  brunette  interrupted  him,  by 
begging  him  to  take  one  dance  with  her.  Our  hero 
at  length  consented,  and  danced  with  the  best  grace 
in  the  world.  The  dance  finished,  he  kissed  his 
smart  country  girl,  and  retired  to  his  seat,  without 
calling  out  the  queen  of  the  ring.  Upon  this  a  mur- 
muring arose ;  everyone,  performers  as  well  as  spec- 
tators, appeared  greatly  incensed  at  so  flagrant  a 
piece  of  disrespect.  Candide  never  dreamed  he  had 
been  guilty  of  any  fault,  and  consequently  did  not 
attempt  to  make  any  reparation.  A  rude  clown 
came  up  to  him,  and  gave  him  a  blow  with  his  fist 
upon  the  nose.  Cacambo  returned  it  to  the  peasant 
with  a  kick  in  the  belly.  In  an  instant  the  musical 
instruments  were  all  broken,  the  girls  lost  their  caps ; 
Candide  and  Cacambo  fought  like  heroes,  but  at 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          271 

length  were  obliged  to  take  to  their  heels,  after  a 
very  hearty  drubbing. 

"Everything  is  embittered  to  me,"  said  Candide, 
giving  his  arm  to  his  friend  Cacambo;  "I  have  ex- 
perienced a  great  many  misfortunes,  but  I  did  not 
expect  to  be  thus  beaten  to  a  mummy  for  dancing 
with  a  country  girl  at  her  own  request." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CANDIDE     AND     CACAMBO     GO     INTO     A     HOSPITAL — 
WHOM    THEY   MEET   THERE. 

CACAMBO  and  his  old  master  were  quite  dis- 
pirited. They  began  to  fall  into  that  sort  of  malady 
of  the  mind  which  extinguishes  all  the  faculties. 
They  fell  into  a  depression  of  spirits  and  despair, 
when  they  perceived  a  hospital  which  was  built  for 
strangers.  Cacambo  proposed  going  into  it;  Can- 
dide followed  him.  There  they  met  with  the  most 
obliging  reception,  and  charitable  treatment.  In  a 
little  time  they  were  cured  of  their  wounds,  but  they 
caught  the  itch.  The  cure  of  this  malady  did  not 
appear  to  be  the  work  of  a  day,  the  idea  of  which 
filled  the  eyes  of  our  philosopher  with  tears ;  and  he 
said,  scratching  himself,  "Thou  wouldst  not  let  me 
cut  my  throat,  my  dear  Cacambo ;  thy  unwise  coun- 
sels have  brought  me  again  into  disgrace  and  mis- 
fortune; and  yet,  should  I  cut  my  throat  now,  it 
will  be  published  in  the  journal  of  Trevoux,  and  it 


1J2  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

will  be  said  this  man  was  a  poltroon,  who  killed  him- 
self only  for  having  the  itch.  See  what  thou  hast 
exposed  me  to,  by  the  mistaken  compassion  thou 
hadst  for  my  fate."  "Our  disasters  are  not  without 
remedy,"  answered  Cacambo.  "If  you  will  but 
please  to  listen  to  me.  Let  us  settle  here  as  friars ;  I 
understand  a  little  surgery,  and  I  promise  you  to 
alleviate  and  render  supportable  our  wretched  con- 
dition." "Ah!"  cried  Candide,  "may  all  asses  per- 
ish, and  especially  asses  of  surgeons,  who  are  so 
dangerous  to  mankind.  I  will  never  suffer  that  thou 
shouldst  give  out  thyself  to  be  what  thou  art  not: 
this  is  a  treachery,  the  consequences  of  which  I 
dread.  Besides,  if  thou  didst  but  conceive  how  hard 
it  is,  after  having  been  viceroy  of  a  fine  province, 
after  having  seen  myself  rich  enough  to  purchase 
kingdoms,  and  after  having  been  the  favorite  lover 
of  Zenoida,  to  resolve  to  serve  in  quality  of  friar  in 
a  hospital."  "I  concede  all  that  you  say,"  replied 
Cacambo ;  "but  I  also  realize  that  it  is  very  hard  to 
die  of  hunger.  Think,  moreover,  that  the  expedient 
which  I  propose  to  you  is  perhaps  the  only  one  which 
you  can  take  to  elude  the  inquiries  of  the  bloody- 
minded  Wolhall,  and  avoid  the  punishment  which  he 
is  preparing  for  you." 

One  of  the  friars  was  passing  along  as  they 
talked  in  this  manner.  They  put  some  questions  to 
him,  to  which  he  gave  satisfactory  answers :  he  as- 
sured them  that  the  brothers  wanted  for  nothing, 
and  enjoyed  a  reasonable  liberty.  Candide  there- 


Candida;  or,  The  Optimist.          273 

upon  determined  to  acquiesce  in  Cacambo's  counsels. 
They  took  the  habit  together,  which  was  granted 
them  upon  the  first  application;  and  our  two  poor 
adventurers  now  became  underlings  to  those  whose 
duty  it  was  to  perform  the  most  servile  offices. 

One  day,  as  Candide  was  serving  the  patients 
with  some  wretched  broth,  an  old  man  fixed  his  eye 
earnestly  upon  him.  The  visage  of  this  poor  wretch 
was  livid,  his  lips  were  covered  with  froth,  his  eyes 
half  turned  in  his  head,  and  the  image  of  death 
strongly  imprinted  on  his  lean  and  sunken  cheeks. 
"Poor  man,"  said  Candide  to  him,  "I  pity  you  ;  your 
sufferings  must  be  horrible."  "They  are  very  great 
indeed,"  answered  the  old  man,  with  a  hollow  voice 
like  a  ghost;  "I  am  told  that  I  am  hectic,  phthisicky, 
asthmatic,  and  poxed  to  the  bone.  If  that  be  the 
case,  I  am  indeed  very  ill;  yet  all  does  not  go  so 
badly,  and  this  gives  me  comfort."  "Ah !"  exclaimed 
Candide,  ''none  but  Dr.  Pangloss,  in  a  case  so  de- 
plorable, can  maintain  the  doctrine  of  optimism, 
when  all  others  besides  would  preach  up  pessim — " 
"Do  not  pionounce  that  abominable  word,"  cried  the 
poor  man ;  "I  am  the  Pangloss  you  speak  of.  Wretch 
that  I  am,  let  me  die  in  peace.  All  is  well,  all  is  for 
the  best."  The  effort  which  he  made  in  pronouncing 
these  words  cost  him  the  last  tooth,  which  he  spit 
out  with  a  great  quantity  of  corrupted  matter,  and 
expired  a  few  moments  after. 

Candide  lamented  him  greatly,  for  he  had  a  good 

heart.    His  obstinate  perseverance  was  a  source  of 
Vol.  i— 18 


274          Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

reflection  to  our  philosopher;  he  often  called  to 
mind  all  his  adventures.  Cunegund  remained  at 
Copenhagen;  Candide  learned  that  she  exercised 
there  the  occupation  of  a  mender  of  old  clothes, 
with  all  possible  distinction.  The  humor  of  travel- 
ling had  quite  left  him.  The  faithful  Cacambo  sup- 
ported him  with  his  counsels  and  friendship.  Can- 
dide did  not  murmur  against  Providence.  "I  know," 
said  he,  at  times,  "that  happiness  is  not  the  portion 
of  man ;  happiness  dwells  only  in  the  good  country 
of  El  Dorado,  where  it  is  impossible  for  anyone  to 
go." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

NEW  DISCOVERIES. 

CANDIDE  was  not  so  unhappy,  as  he  had  a  true 
friend.  He  found  in  a  mongrel  valet  what  the  world 
vainly  looks  for  in  our  quarter  of  the  globe.  Perhaps 
nature,  which  gives  origin  to  herbs  in  America  that 
are  proper  for  the  maladies  of  bodies  on  our  conti- 
nent, has  also  placed  remedies  there  for  the  maladies 
of  our  hearts  and  minds.  Possibly  there  are  men  in 
the  new  world  of  a  quite  different  conformation 
from  us,  who  are  not  slaves  to  personal  interests, 
and  are  worthy  to  burn  with  the  noble  fire  of  friend- 
ship. How  desirable  would  it  be,  that  instead  of 
bales  of  indigo  and  cochineal,  all  covered  with  blood, 
some  of  these  men  were  imported  among  us !  This 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          275 

sort  of  traffic  would  be  of  vast  advantage  to  man- 
kind. Cacambo  was  of  greater  value  to  Candide 
than  a  dozen  of  red  sheep  loaded  with  the  pebbles  of 
El  Dorado.  Our  philosopher  began  again  to  taste 
the  pleasure  of  life.  It  was  a  comfort  to  him  to 
watch  for  the  conservation  of  the  human  species, 
and  not  to  be  a  useless  member  of  society.  God 
blessed  such  pure  intentions,  by  giving  him,  as  well 
as  Cacambo,  the  enjoyment  of  health.  They  had  got 
rid  of  the  itch,  and  fulfilled  with  cheerfulness  the 
painful  functions  of  their  station ;  but  fortune  soon 
deprived  them  of  the  security  which  they  enjoyed. 
Cunegund,  who  had  set  her  heart  upon  tormenting 
her  husband,  left  Copenhagen  to  follow  his  foot- 
steps. Chance  brought  her  to  the  hospital ;  she  was 
accompanied  by  a  man,  whom  Candide  knew  to  be 
Baron  Thunder-ten-tronckh.  One  may  easily  imag- 
ine what  must  have  been  his  surprise.  The  baron, 
who  saw  him,  addressed  him  thus:  "I  did  not  tug 
long  at  the  oar  in  the  Turkish  galleys;  the  Jesuits 
heard  of  my  misfortune,  and  redeemed  me  for  the 
honor  of  their  society.  I  have  made  a  journey  into 
Germany,  where  I  received  some  favors  from  my 
father's  heirs.  I  omitted  nothing  to  find  my  sister ; 
and  having  learned  at  Constantinople,  that  she  had 
sailed  from  there  in  a  vessel  which  was  shipwrecked 
on  the  coasts  of  Denmark,  I  disguised  myself,  took 
letters  of  recommendation  to  Danish  merchants,  who 
have  correspondence  with  the  society,  and,  in  fine,  I 
found  my  sister,  who  still  loves  you,  base  and  un- 


276  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

worthy  as  you  are  of  her  regard;  and  since  you 
have  had  the  impudence  to  lie  with  her,  I  consent  to 
the  ratification  of  the  marriage,  or  rather  a  new  cele- 
bration of  it,  with  this  express  proviso,  that  my 
sister  shall  give  you  only  her  left  hand;  which  is 
very  reasonable,  since  she  has  seventy-one  quarters, 
and  you  have  never  a  one."  "Alas !"  said  Candide, 
"all  the  quarters  of  the  world  without  beauty — 
Miss  Cunegund  was  very  ugly  when  I  had  the  im- 
prudence to  marry  her ;  she  afterwards  became  hand- 
some again,  and  another  has  enjoyed  her  charms. 
She  is  once  more  grown  ugly,  and  you  would  have 
me  give  her  my  hand  a  second  time.  No,  upon  my 
word,  my  reverend  father,  send  her  back  to  her 
seraglio  at  Constantinople ;  she  has  done  me  too 
much  injury  in  this  country."  "Ungrateful  man," 
screamed  Cunegund,  with  the  most  frightful  con- 
tortions ;  "be  persuaded,  and  relent  in  time ;  do  not 
provoke  the  baron,  who  is  a  priest,  to  kill  us  both, 
to  wipe  out  his  disgrace  with  our  blood.  Dost  thou 
believe  me  capable  of  having  failed  in  intention  to 
the  fidelity  which  I  owed  thee  ?  What  wouldst  thou 
have  had  me  do  against  a  man  who  found  me  hand- 
some? Neither  my  tears  nor  my  cries  could  have 
softened  his  brutal  insensibility.  Seeing  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done,  I  disposed  myself  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  be  violated  with  the  least  brutality  possible, 
and  every  other  woman  would  have  done  the  same. 
This  is  all  the  crime  I  have  committed,  and  does  not 
merit  thy  displeasure.  But  I  know  my  greatest 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          277 

crime  with  thee  is  having  deprived  thee  of  thy  mis- 
tress ;  and  yet  this  action  ought  to  convince  thee  of 
my  love.  Come,  my  dear  spouse,  if  ever  I  should 
again  become  handsome;  if  ever  my  breasts,  now 
lank  and  withered,  should  recover  their  roundness 
and  elasticity ;  if — it  will  be  only  for  thee,  my  dear 
Candide.  We  are  no  longer  in  Turkey,  and  I  swear 
faithfully  to  thee  never  to  suffer  any  violation  for 
the  future." 

This  discourse  did  not  make  much  impression 
upon  Candide ;  he  desired  a  few  hours  to  make  his 
resolution  how  to  proceed.  The  baron  granted  him 
two  hours;  during  which  time  he  consulted  his 
friend  Cacambo.  After  having  weighed  the  reasons, 
pro  and  contra,  they  determined  to  follow  the  Jesuit 
and  his  sister  into  Germany.  They  accordingly  left 
the  hospital  and  set  out  together  on  their  travels,  not 
on  foot,  but  on  good  horses  hired  by  the  baron. 
They  arrived  on  the  frontiers  of  the  kingdom.  A 
huge  man,  of  a  very  villainous  aspect,  surveyed  our 
hero  with  close  attention.  "It  is  the  very  man,"  said 
he,  casting  his  eyes  at  the  same  time  upon  a  little 
bit  of  paper  he  had  in  his  hand.  "Sir,  if  I  am  not 
too  inquisitive,  is  not  your  name  Candide?"  "Yes, 
sir,  so  I  have  always  been  called."  "Sir,  I  flatter 
myself  you  are  the  very  same ;  you  have  black  eye- 
brows, eyes  level  with  your  head,  ears  not  promi- 
nent, of  a  middling  size,  and  a  round,  flesh-colored 
visage ;  to  me  you  plainly  appear  to  be  five  feet  five 
inches  high."  "Yes,  sir,  that  is  my  stature;  but 


278  Candida;  or,  The  Optimist. 

what  have  you  to  do  with  my  ears  and  stature?" 
"Sir,  we  cannot  use  too  much  circumspection  in  our 
office.  Permit  me  further  to  put  one  single  question 
more  to  you :  Have  you  not  formerly  been  a  servant 
to  Lord  Wolhall?"  "Sir,  upon  my  word,"  answered 
Candide,  quite  disconcerted,  "I  know  nothing  of 
what  you  mean."  "Maybe  so,  sir,  but  I  know  for 
certain  that  you  are  the  person  whose  description 
has  been  sent  me.  Take  the  trouble  then  to  walk 
into  the  guard-house,  if  you  please.  Here,  soldiers, 
take  care  of  this  gentleman;  get  the  black  hole 
ready,  and  let  the  armorer  be  sent  for,  to  make  him  a 
pretty  little  set  of  fetters  of  about  thirty  or  forty 
pounds  weight.  Mr.  Candide,  you  have  a  good 
horse  there ;  I  am  in  want  of  such  a  one,  and  I  fancy 
he  will  answer  my  purpose.  I  shall  make  free  with 
him." 

The  baron  was  afraid  to  say  the  horse  was  his. 
They  carried  off  poor  Candide,  and  Miss  Cunegund 
wept  for  a  whole  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  Jesuit 
seemed  perfectly  unconcerned  at  this  accident.  "I 
should  have  been  obliged  to  have  killed  him,  or  to 
have  made  him  marry  you  over  again,"  said  he  to 
his  sister ;  "and  all  things  considered,  what  has  just 
happened  is  much  the  best  for  the  honor  of  our 
family."  Cunegund  departed  with  her  brother,  and 
only  the  faithful  Cacambo  remained,  who  would  not 
forsake  his  friend. 


Candide ;  or,  The  Optimist.          279 
CHAPTER  XX. 

CONSEQUENCE  OF  CANDIDE's  MISFORTUNE — HOW  HE 
FOUND  HIS  MISTRESS  AGAIN — THE  FORTUNE  THAT 
HAPPENED  TO  HIM. 

"O  PANGLOSS/'  said  Candide,  "what  a  pity  it  is 
you  perished  so  miserably !  You  have  been  witness 
only  to  a  part  of  my  misfortunes ;  and  I  had  hoped 
to  prevail  on  you  to  forsake  the  ill-founded  opinion 
which  you  maintained  to  your  last  breath.  No 
man  ever  suffered  greater  calamities  than  I  have 
done;  but  there  is  not  a  single  individual  who  has 
not  cursed  his  existence,  as  the  daughter  of  Pope 
Urban  warmly  expressed  herself.  What  will  become 
of  me,  my  dear  Cacambo?"  "Faith,  I  cannot  tell," 
said  Cacambo ;  "all  I  know  is,  that  I  will  not  forsake 
you."  "But  Miss  Cunegund  has  forsaken  me,"  said 
Candide.  "Alas !  a  wife  is  of  far  less  value  than  a 
menial  servant  who  is  a  true  friend." 

Candide  and  Cacambo  discoursed  thus  in  the 
black  hole.  From  there  they  were  taken  out  to  be 
carried  back  to  Copenhagen.  It  was  there  that  our 
philosopher  was  to  know  his  doom:  he  expected  it 
to  be  dreadful,  and  our  readers,  doubtless,  expect  so, 
too ;  but  Candide  was  mistaken,  as  our  readers  will 
be,  likewise.  It  was  at  Copenhagen  that  happiness 
waited  to  crown  all  his  sufferings:  he  was  hardly 
arrived,  when  he  understood  that  Wolhall  was  dead. 
This  barbarian  had  no  one  to  regret  him,  while 
everybody  interested  themselves  in  Candide.  His 


280  Candide;  or,  The  Optimist. 

irons  were  knocked  off,  and  his  freedom  gave  him  so 
much  the  more  joy  as  it  was  immediately  followed 
by  the  sight  of  his  dear  Zenoida.  He  flewr  to  her 
with  the  utmost  transport.  They  were  a  long  time 
without  speaking  a  word ;  but  their  silence  \vas  in- 
finitely more  expressive  than  words.  They  wept, 
they  embraced  each  other,  they  attempted  to  speak, 
but  tears  stopped  their  utterance.  Cacambo  was  a 
pleased  spectator  of  this  scene,  so  truly  interesting 
to  a  sensible  being ;  he  shared  in  the  happiness  of  his 
friend,  and  was  almost  as  much  affected  as  Candide 
himself.  "Dear  Cacambo !  adorable  Zenoida !"  cried 
Candide ;  "you  efface  from  my  heart  the  deep  traces 
of  my  misfortunes.  Love  and  friendship  prepare 
for  me  future  days  of  serenity  and  uninterrupted  de- 
light. Through  what  a  number  of  trials  have  I 
passed  to  arrive  at  this  unexpected  happiness !  But 
they  are  all  forgot,  dear  Zenoida;  I  behold  you 
once  more !  you  love  me ;  everything  is  for  the  best 
in  regard  to  me ;  all  is  good  in  nature." 

By  Wolhall's  death,  Zenoida  wras  left  at  her  own 
disposal.  The  court  had  given  her  a  pension  out  of 
her  father's  fortune  which  had  been  confiscated ;  she 
shared  it  with  Candide  and  Cacambo ;  she  appointed 
them  apartments  in  her  own  house,  and  gave  out 
that  she  had  received  several  considerable  sen-ices 
from  these  two  strangers,  which  obliged  her  to  pro- 
cure them  all  the  comforts  and  pleasures  of  life,  and 
to  repair  the  injustice  which  fortune  had  done  them. 
There  were  some  who  saw  through  the  motive  of  her 


Candide;  or,  The  Optimist.          281 

beneficence ;  which  was  no  very  hard  matter  to  do, 
considering  the  great  talk  her  connection  with  Can- 
dide had  formerly  occasioned.  The  greater  part 
blamed  her,  and  her  conduct  was  only  approved  by 
some  few  who  knew  how  to  reflect.  Zenoida,  who 
set  a  proper  value  on  the  good  opinion  even  of  fools, 
was  nevertheless  too  happy  to  repent  the  loss  of  it. 
The  news  of  the  death  of  Miss  Cunegund,  which 
was  brought  by  the  correspondents  of  the  Jesuit 
merchants  in  Copenhagen,  procured  Zenoida  the 
means  of  conciliating  the  minds  of  people.  She 
ordered  a  genealogy  to  be  drawn  up  for  Candide. 
The  author,  who  was  a  man  of  ability  in  his  way, 
derived  his  pedigree  from  one  of  the  most  ancient 
families  in  Europe ;  he  even  pretended  his  true  name 
was  Canute,  which  was  that  of  one  of  the  former 
kings  of  Denmark;  which  appeared  very  probable, 
as  "dide"  into  "ute"  is  not  such  a  great  metamor- 
phosis :  and  Candide  by  means  of  this  little  change, 
became  a  very  great  lord.  He  married  Zenoida  in 
public ;  they  lived  with  as  much  tranquillity  as  it  is 
possible  to  do.  Cacambo  was  their  common  friend ; 
and  Candide  said  often,  "All  is  not  so  well  as  in  El 
Dorado ;  but  all  does  not  go  so  badly." 


POETICAL  DISSERTATIONS 


ON  EQUALITY  OF  CONDITIONS. 


FRIEND,  o'er  whose  mind  fair  virtue  still  presides, 
Whom  reason  still  to  nature's  instinct  guides, 
Who  mak'st  thy  wishes  with  thy  station  meet, 
Blessed  without  wealth,  in  pleasures  still  discreet : 
Happy  are  those  who  thus  their  genius  scan, 
Whom  prudence  teaches  to  elect  life's  plan : 
His  heart  ne'er  grieves  repentance'  voice  to  hear, 
He  lives  concentred  in  his  proper  sphere. 
Men  differ ;  one's  condition's  like  the  rest, 
Folly  miscarries  where  good  sense  is  blessed. 
Bliss  is  the  port  to  which  each  mortal's  bound, 
The  wind's  uncertain,  rocks  of  life  abound: 
Heaven  to  enable  man  the  port  to  find 
A  bark  to  every  mortal  has  assigned. 
Various  resources,  equal  dangers  rise, 
What  boots  it  when  the  storm  roars  through  the  skies 
That  thy  poop's  painted ;  that  the  changeful  gales 
Blow  through  thy  silken  shrouds  and  purple  sails  : 
The  pilot's  art  alone  the  storm  allays, 
And  not  the  ornaments  our  bark  displays. 
What  doctrine  strange,  you'll  say,  is  here  professed, 
I.c  no  state  then  beyond  another  blessed? 


282 


VIRTUE      TRIUMRHANT      OVER      VICI 


On  Equality  of  Conditions.          283 

Has  heaven  given  all  of  bliss  an  equal  share  ? 

A  scrivener's  wife  to  a  princess  who'd  compare  ? 

Is  it  not  for  a  priest  a  happier  fate 

To  clap  a  scarlet  hat  on  his  bald  pate, 

Than  to  go  after  morn  or  evening  prayer 

To  expose  to  discipline  his  shoulders  bare  ? 

In  triple  bonnet  sure  more  blessed  the  judge 

Than  the  clerk  doomed  in  office  still  to  drudge. 

God's  justice,  nature's  laws,  this  rule  oppose, 

Her  gifts  she  with  more  equity  bestows. 

Think  you  she'll  ever  be  so  partial  found 

As  to  have  bliss  to  fortune's  chariot  bound? 

A  colonel  oft  will  impudently  try 

In  pleasures  even  a  marshal  to  outvie. 

Blessed  as  a  king,  the  ignorant  vulgar  say, 

Yet  monarchs  dearly  for  their  grandeur  pay. 

Vain  confidence  a  king  puts  in  his  throne, 

For  grief  and  spleen  to  greatness'  self  are  known. 

Heaven  must  to  all  the  same  attention  pay, 

It  formed  all  mankind  of  one  common  clay. 

Let's  own  that  heaven  is  just  as  well  as  kind, 

It  has  a  birthright  to  each  child  assigned ; 

Some  crop  must  still  be  reaped  from  earth's  worst 

spot, 

He's  disinherited  who  mourns  his  lot. 
Let's  without  pride  possess ;  let's  bear  with  grace, 
Since  'twas  by  God  assigned  our  earthly  place. 
God  meant  arranging  mundane  things 
To  make  us  happy,  not  to  make  us  kings. 


284  On  Equality  of  Conditions. 

Before  Pandora,  if  we  credit  fame, 
We  all  were  equal,  we  are  still  the  same. 
Each  having  the  same  title  to  be  blessed 
Puts  each  upon  a  level  with  the  rest. 
Those  slaves  in  yonder  valley  dost  thou  see, 
Who  cut  a  craggy  rock,  or  lop  a  tree; 
Who  turn  the  course  of  streams ;  who,  with  a  spade 
The  entrails  of  the  fertile  earth  invade. 
We  do  not  find  that  model  in  those  plains 
On  which  were  formed  Fontenelle's  soft  swains. 
There  Timaret  and  Tircis  are  not  found 
Beneath  a  myrtle  shade  with  chaplets  crowned, 
Graving  upon  the  oaken  bark  their  names, 
And  ever  talking  of  their  amorous  flames ; 
But  some  rough  man  endowed  with  stubborn  heart, 
Who  knows  through  mire  to  drive  the  laden  cart : 
Soon  as  Aurora  streaks  the  russet  skies, 
From  her  coarse  bed  Perrette  is  forced  to  rise, 
They  pant,  with  dust  I  see  them  covered  o'er ; 
Each  day  they  labor  as  the  day  before ; 
By  toil  to  cold  and  heat  alike  inured, 
Both  are  by  them  with  equal  ease  endured : 
And  yet  they  sing  in  rude  tone,  without  note, 
Old  ballads  which  by  Pellegrin  were  wrote. 
Strength,  health,  sound  sleep,  the  mind's  serene  re- 
pose, 

To  poverty  and  toil  the  laborer  owes. 
At  Paris  gay  Colin  no  joy  can  find, 
His  ears  are  deafened,  uninformed  his  mind : 


On  Equality  of  Conditions.  285 

No  joy  its  splendor  to  the  rustic  yields ; 
He  overlooks  it,  and  regrets  his  fields. 
Love's  voice  excites  him  thither  to  repair, 
Whilst  Damis  running  still  from  fair  to  fair 
In  proud  apartments  lolls  at  careless  ease, 
Intrigue  his  business,  his  desire  to  please, 
By  his  wife  hated,  duped  by  his  kept  dame, 
To  every  beauty  tells  his  amorous  flame ; 
Quits  ^Egle's  arms  for  Cloris  coy,  who  flies, 
And  thinks  all  joy  in  noise  and  scandal  lies. 
The  vigorous,  faithful  Colin,  on  love's  wing 
Flies  to  Lisetta  with  return  of  spring. 
Returning  in  three  months,  the  rustic  swain 
Makes  presents  simple,  like  himself,  and  plain : 
He  does  not  bring  those  trinkets  rich  and  rare 
Which  Hebert  sells  to  the  deluded  fair. 
Without  these  trifles  he  secures  his  joys, 
He  wants  them  not,  they  are  the  happy's  toys. 
The  rapid  eagle  through  the  yielding  skies 
After  his  paramour  with  ardor  flies. 
The  bull  the  heifer  seeks  with  many  a  bound, 
His  lowing  love  makes  all  the  vale  resound. 
Sweet  Philomel,  soon  as  the  flowers  appear, 
Delights  with  songs  his  loved  companion's  ear. 
Forth  from  the  bushes  darts  the  buzzing  fly, 
Meets  insects,  and  engenders  in  the  sky ; 
To  exist  of  all  their  wishes  is  the  bound, 
They  grieve  not  others  are  more  perfect  found. 
What  need  I  care  whilst  in  my  present  state 
That  other  beings  have  a  happier  fate. 


286  On  Equality  of  Conditions. 

But  can  that  wretch  who  lies  upon  the  dust 

Object  at  once  of  pity  and  disgust, 

That  breathing  skele'ton  with  woes  oppressed, 

Who  lives  to  suffer,  say,  can  he  be  blessed  ? 

No ;  but  can  Thamas  by  a  slave  deposed, 

A  vizier  in  disgrace,  a  prince  opposed, 

Be  happy  deemed  ?  When  once  they're  cast  in  chains, 

A  sad  remembrance  of  their  state  remains. 

Each  state  its  ills,  its  disappointments  knows ; 

Man's  state  is  varied,  various  are  his  woes; 

Less  fierce  in  peace,  more  active  in  the  fight, 

Charles  had  in  English  realms  maintained  his  right. 

And  had  Dufresny  with  more  care  applied, 

Of  want  he  had  not  like  an  author  died. 

We  all  are  equal,  men  must  bear  fatigue, 

Churches  breed  controversies,  courts  intrigue. 

Too  oft  true  merit  lurks  behind  a  screen, 

Evil  abounds,  but  bliss  is  often  seen. 

Nor  youth,  nor  age,  nor  poverty,  nor  wealth, 

Can  e'er  restore  the  wounded  soul  to  health. 

Irus  of  old,  of  poverty  ashamed, 

Loud  against  Croesus'  opulence  declaimed : 

"Honor  and  wealth  by  Croesus  are  possessed," 

Cried  he,  "and  only  I  remain  unblessed." 

While  thus  he  spoke,  while  thus  his  rage  prevailed, 

The  Carian  king  an  armed  host  assailed. 

Of  all  his  courtly  train  not  one  remains, 

In  fight  he's  taken,  and  he's  cast  in  chains ; 

His  treasure's  lost,  his  mistress  from  him  torn : 

He  weeps,  but  sees,  when  lost  and  quite  forlorn, 


On  Equality  of  Conditions.  287 

Irus,  poor  Irus,  who,  the  combat  o'er, 

Drinks  with  the  victors,  thinks  of  war  no  more. 

"Oh !  Jove,"  exclaimed  he,  "Irus  knows  the  worst ;» 

Irus  is  happy,  I  alone  am  cursed." 

Mistaken  both,  they  should  dispute  lay  by; 

He  errs,  who  sees  a  man  with  envious  eye : 

External  lustre  fills  us  with  surprise; 

But  man's  a  mystery  to  human  eyes. 

All  joy  is  transient,  mirth  must  have  an  end ; 

Whither  do  then  the  cares  of  mortals  tend  ? 

In  every  clime  grows  happiness  sincere, 

Tis  nowhere  to  be  found,  or  everywhere : 

Nowhere  entire,  but  everywhere  the  same; 

In  God  alone  exhaustless  lasts  the  flame : 

It's  like  the  pure,  like  the  ethereal  fires 

To  mix  with  other  elements  aspires ; 

Mounts  to  the  clouds,  descends  to  rocks  below, 

And  in  the  sea's  abyss  makes  diamonds  glow ; 

When  snowy  mountains  load  the  frozen  plains 

Joy  ever  cheers  the  bosoms  of  the  swains. 

In  whate'er  state  thou'rt  born,  O  mortal,  still 

Resigned,  submit  to  thy  Creator's  will ! 
Vol.  i — 19 


ON  LIBERTY. 


IN  TRANSIENT  life,  which  some  few  years  comprise, 
If  happiness  must  be  true  wisdom's  prize, 
Who  shall  to  me  this  sacred  treasure  send, 
Does  it  upon  myself  or  heaven  depend  ? 
Is  it  like  wit,  like  beauty,  and  high  birth, 
A  lot  which  prudence  can't  acquire  on  earth? 
Say,  am  I  free,  or  do  my  limbs  and  soul 
Some  other  agent's  secret  springs  control? 
Is  will  which  ever  hurries  me  away, 
Slave  to  the  soul,  or  bears  she  sovereign  sway  ? 
Plunged  in  this  doubt,  and  hopeless  of  relief, 
I  raised  to  heaven  my  eyes  obscured  with  grief. 
A  spirit  then  to  whom  the  God  is  known, 
Who  holds  his  place  by  the  Almighty's  throne, 
Who  still  attends  him,  burns  with  constant  flame, 
From  the  high  heavens  celestial  envoy  came ; 
For  oft  propitiously  those  sons  of  light 
Illume  the  soul  obscured  by  error's  night. 
And  fly  the  doctor's  supercilious  pride, 
Who  does  in  his  professor's  chair  confide ; 
Who  quite  elate,  and  of  his  system  vain, 
Mistakes  for  truth  the  phantom  of  his  brain. 
288 


On  Liberty.  289 

Listen,  said  he,  in  pity  to  your  grief 

I'll  now  reveal  what  sure  will  bring  relief. 

What  you  desire  to  learn  I  shall  disclose, 

Instruction  is  his  due  to  doubt  who  knows. 

Know  then,  oh !  man,  that  you  are  free  as  I, 

This  is  the  noblest  gift  of  the  Most  High ; 

In  the  free  will  of  each  intelligence 

That  being's  life  consists,  its  true  essence. 

That's  free  which  can  conceive,  will,  act,  design ; 

A  glorious  attribute,  almost  divine. 

This  great  prerogative  to  God  we  owe, 

His  offspring  we,  His  images  below : 

His  word  all  powerful  made  heaven,  earth,  and  seas, 

The  body  thus  the  will's  command  obeys. 

Sovereign  on  earth,  a  powerful  king  by  thought, 

Nature  by  thee  is  to  thy  purpose  brought ; 

The  zephyr  you  command,  the  roaring  main  ; 

You  can  your  will  and  even  desires  restrain. 

Of  liberty,  if  we  the  soul  divest, 

What  is  it  ?  Tis  a  subtile  flame  at  best. 

Were  we  deprived  once  of  the  power  to  choose, 

We  should  in  fact  our  very  being  lose ; 

Machines  we  should  be  by  the  Almighty  wrought, 

Curious  automatons  endowed  with  thought. 

We  should  delusion  suffer  every  hour, 

Tools  of  the  Deity's  despotic  power. 

Could  man,  not  free,  God's  image  be  esteemed? 

Could  works  like  these  be  profitable  deemed? 

Can't  he  tflen  please  God,  can't  he  give  offence, 

Can  God  not  punish  us  nor  recompense? 


290  On  Liberty. 

Justice  in  heaven  and  earth  must  cease  to  dwell, 
Desfontaines  is  not  bad,  not  good  Pucelle.* 
Fate's  impulse  actuates  each  human  breast, 
And  the  world's  chaos  is  by  vice  possessed. 
The  proud  oppressor,  miser  hard  of  heart, 
Cartouche,  Mirivis,  skilled  in  fraudful  art; 
The  slanderer,  more  criminal  than  all, 
May  God  the  causer  of  his  baseness  call. 
If  I  am  perjured,  'tis  by  his  command, 
He  plunders,  robs,  and  murders  by  my  hand : 
'Tis  thus  the  God  who  first  ordained  all  laws, 
Is  made  of  horrors  and  black  crimes  the  cause. 
Could  those  who  such  a  flogma  dire  maintain, 
Speak  of  the  devil  himself  in  blacker  strain : 
Surprise  seized  on  me,  as  on  one  at  night 
Who  wakes  surprised  to  see  a  sudden  light, 
Whilst  yet  a  heavy  and  half-opened  eye 
With  difficulty  can  the  light  descry. 
I  answered :  Can  it,  heavenly  spirit,  be 
That  mortal  man's  so  wreak  whilst  he  is  free, 
Why  cannot  reason's  torch  direct  his  \vay, 
He  follows  it,  yet  often  goes  astray? 
Why  should  this  paragon  so  wise  and  brave, 
Be  always  thus  to  vice  an  abject  slave? 
This  answer  straight  returned  the  spirit  kind, 
What  groundless  grief  has  thus  overwhelmed  your 
mind? 

*The  abbe  Pucelle,  a  celebrated  counsellor  of  parlia- 
ment. The  abbe  Desfontaines,  a  man  who  often  incurred 
the  censure  of  the  law.  He  kept  open  shop,  where  he  sold 
panegyric  and  satire  to  those  who  bid  highest. 


On  Liberty.  291 

Liberty  sometimes  is  impaired  in  you, 
But  was  eternal  liberty  your  due? 
Should  it  be  equal  in  each  time  and  state 
You'd  be  a  God,  to  be  a  man's  your  fate. 
Shall  a  drop  in  the  vast  unbounded  sea 
Exclaim :  Immensity  was  made  for  me  ? 
No ;  all  is  weak  in  thee,  to  change  inclined 
Thy  beauty,  strength,  the  talents  of  thy  mind. 
All  nature  has  its  limits  fixed  below, 
Shall  then  man's  power  be  boundless  here  below? 
But  when  your  heart  which  various  passions  sway 
To  their  strong  impulse  overpowered  gives  way ; 
When  to  their  force  you  find  your  free-will  bend, 
You  had  it  sure,  since  you  perceive  it  end. 
Whene'er  you  feel  the  burning  fever's  flame 
By  slow  degrees  it  undermines  your  frame ; 
But  that  attack  no  sure  destruction  brings, 
Though  for  a  time  it  wears  life's  feeble  springs. 
You  oft  return  from  death's  half-opened  gate 
More  healthy,  temperate,  and  more  sedate, 
Your  great  prerogative  more  strictly  scan, 
Liberty  is  the  soul's  health  in  a  man. 
Sometimes  its  efficacy  may  subside 
Subdued  by  rage,  ambition,  love,  or  pride. 
The  thirst  for  knowledge  may  its  power  control, 
Many  are  the  diseases  of  the  soul. 
But  you  against  them  may  yourself  defend, 
Open  this  book,  consult  that  learned  friend ; 
A  friend's  the  gift  of  heaven,  a  blessing  rare, 
To  Sylva,*  Vernage,  Helvetius  repair. 
*  A  famous  physician  of  Paris. 


292  On  Liberty. 

May  heaven,  when  men  are  into  vice  betrayed, 
Send  such  assistants  powerful  to  their  aid. 
Is  there  that  idiot  among  humankind 
Who  wishes  not  in  danger,  aid  to  find? 
Behold  the  mortal  who  free-will  arraigns, 
And  blindly  a  blind  destiny  maintains, 
See  how  he  ponders,  weighs,  deliberates ; 
See  how  he  loads  with  blame  the  man  he  hates ; 
How  he  seeks  vengeance  when  with  passion  warm; 
How  he  corrects  his  son  and  would  reform. 
From  hence  'tis  evident  he  thought  him  free, 
His  system  and  his  actions  disagree. 
His  heart  belied  his  tongue  at  every  *-ord 
In  striving  to  explain  this  dogma  so  absurd : 
He  owns  the  sentiment  he  seems  to  brave ; 
He  acts  as  free,  discourses  as  a  slave. 
Since  free,  thank  God  who  freedom  did  bestow, 
To  him  the  bliss  that  makes  you  blessed  you  owe ; 
Avoid  with  caution  all  the  vain  contest 
Of  those  that  tyrannize  the  human  breast; 
Firm  in  thy  principles,  and  just  in  heart, 
Error  compassionate,  with  truth  take  part. 
"Do  not  to  zeal's  suggestions  fierce  give  way, 
He  is  a  brother  who  is  led  astray; 
To  be  humane  as  well  as  prudent  strive ; 
From  others'  bliss  thy  happiness  derive. 
The  angel's  words  resounding  in  my  ear, 
My  mind  wras  raised  above  this  mortal  sphere ; 
I  had  inquired,  at  length  presumptuous  grown, 
Of  things  revealed  to  heavenly  minds  alone : 


On  Liberty.  293 

Of  spirit  pure,  of  matter,  light,  and  space 
The  elastic  spring,  eternity,  time's  race, 
Strange  questions,  which  so  frequently  confound 
Mairant  the  subtle,  Gravesende  the  profound,* 
And  which  Descartes  in  vain  strove  to  explore, 
Whose  vortices  are  now  believed  no  more. 
But  then  the  spirit  vanished  from  my  sight 
And  sought  the  regions  of  eternal  light. 
He  was  not  sent  me  from  the  ethereal  sky, 
To  teach  the  secrets  deep  of  the  Most  High : 
My  eyes  by  too  great  light  had  been  oppressed, 
He  said  enough,  in  saying,  man  be  blessed. 

*  Mr.  Gravesende,  professor  at  Leyden ;  the  first  who 
taught  Newton's  discoveries.  Mr.  Dortous  de  Mairant,  a 
gentleman  of  Beziers,  secretary  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences 
at  Paris. 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  MAN. 


VIRTUE  presides  still  over  thy  delights, 
To  thee  she  by  the  charm  of  verse  invites. 
Your  study's  man,  that  labyrinth  you  explore, 
Your  guide  the  clue  of  wisdom's  sacred  lore. 
Ashamed  of  ignorance,  to  study  man 
I  strive,  myself,  my  being  I  would  scan ; 
To  satire  Pascal  and  Boileau  inclined, 
Have  dipped  their  pen  in  gall  and  lashed  mankind, 
Leibnitz  and  Pope,  at  once  both  learned  and  sage, 
Observe  a  medium  in  their  moral  page ; 
Wisely  the  latent  tracts  of  man  explore, 
And  to  the  Deity  sublimely  soar. 
But  nature's  ways  they  strove  to  find  in  vain, 
Man  is  a  riddle  man  cannot  explain; 
Upon  the  subject  all  their  wit  have  shown, 
But  still  the  riddle's  sense  remains  unknown. 
By  prostitutes,  I  know,  and  rakes  professed, 
The  disquisition's  treated  as  a  jest. 
At  supper  these  loose  verses  read  aloud, 
Which  charm  the  sprightly,  gay,  unthinking  crowd. 
But  study  pleases  when  our  mirth  is  past, 
Reason  succeeds  to  witty  jests  at  last. 
294 


On  the  Nature  of  Man.  295 

Upon  ourselves  we  turn  a  curious  eye, 

And  into  our  own  nature  strive  to  pry. 

Thought  is  to  those  who  live  in  crowds  unknown, 

We  seriously  reflect  when  left  alone. 

With  thee  I  fain  would  soar  on  wisdom's  wing 

From  this  vile  world  to  its  Eternal  King. 

That  wondrous  chain  discover,  if  you  can, 

Which  links  the  heavens  with  earth,  with  angels  man : 

That  world  of  beings  subject  to  one  law, 

Which  Plato  and  which  Pope  in  fancy  saw. 

In  vain  you  press  me,  such  a  great  design 

My  genius  must  in  silent  awe  decline: 

Gallic  correctness  all  my  flights  restrains, 

Ours  are  not  free  like  Greek  or  British  strains. 

'Tis  Pope's  to  speak,  T  am  to  silence  bound, 

Bachelors  of  Bourges  may  mysteries  expound. 

I've  taken  no  degree,  nor  will  engage 

In  fierce  debate  or  war  polemic  wage. 

Hear  a  recital  with  instruction  fraught, 

Which  by  Fourmont  may  be  a  fable  thought ; 

But  which  I  in  a  Chinese  author  found 

Translated  by  a  Jesuit  profound. 

A  mouse  did  once  thus  to  another  say, 

"O'er  what  a  noble  empire  bear  we  sway ! 

This  palace's  deep  foundations  erst  were  laid 

For  us  ;  for  us  by  God  these  holes  were  made. 

See  you  those  hams  in  yon  vault  closely  pent  ? 

By  God  they  thither  for  our  use  were  sent. 

Those  hills  of  bacon,  an  unfailing  store, 

Shall  last  for  us  till  time  shall  be  no  more. 


296  On  the  Nature  of  Man. 

A  mouse,  great  God,  the  sages  all  declare 

Creation's  end:  A  work  beyond  compare! 

Vicious  are  cats,  to  eat  us  much  inclined, 

But  'tis  from  error  to  reclaim  our  kind." 

Not  far  a  multitude  of  geese  are  seen,. 

Drawn  up  near  woods  and  streams  upon  the  green ; 

Of  pampered  turkeys,  troops  that  strut  in  state, 

And  flocks  that  bend  beneath  their  fleeces'  weight, 

They  cried :  "The  universe  is  ours  alone, 

Whatever  the  Almighty  made,  we  own." 

In  the  clear  watery  image  whilst  he  grazed, 

The  ass  his  beauty  saw,  and  was  amazed. 

He  cries :   "For  asses  God  has  made  the  earth, 

Man  still  attends  me,  he's  my  slave  from  birth ; 

He  curries,  washes  me,  and,  more,  to  please, 

Builds  my  seraglio,  for  my  joys  purveys; 

And  happy  to  procure  me  soft  delight, 

Brings  a  she-ass  to  crown  my  bliss  at  night : 

Often  I  laugh  when  I  behold  him  pass, 

With  haughty  airs,  as  if  he  were  an  ass." 

Man  came  the  next,  his  plea  was  much  the  same, 

He  cried :  "Heaven,  earth,  and  elements,  I  claim : 

To  waft  me  ocean  rolls  and  winds  arise ; 

To  give  me  light,  stars  glitter  in  the  skies ; 

Night's  argent  globe  through  heaven's  clear  azure 

glides, 

Increases,  wanes,  and  o'er  the  stars  presides  ; 
O'er  all  presides  my  vast,  capacious  mind, 
In  the  wide  universe  too  close  confined : 


On  the  Nature  of  Man.  297 

But  though  I'm  oracle  and  master  here, 

I  should  be  raised  to  a  more  glorious  sphere." 

The  angels  then,  who  in  high  heaven  control 

The  wandering  orbs,  and  teach  them  how  to  roll, 

Exclaimed,  whilst  at  their  will  they  moved  each  ball : 

"God  for  our  pleasure  has  created  all." 

Then  earth  with  pity  and  with  scorn  they  eyed, 

And  laughed  at  mortals  and  at  human  pride. 

Their  secret  thoughts  were  all  to  Fien*  known, 

He  summoned  them  before  the  eternal  throne. 

Each  varied  being,  angel,  beast,  and  man, 

All  that  compose  thfe  Almighty's  wondrous  plan, 

"You  are  my  creatures,  I  call  you  all  mine, 

You  bear,"  said  He,  "my  character  divine ; 

To  me  you  all,  as  to  your  centre,  tend ; 

For  me  you  all  were  made,  on  me  depend : 

I  rule  at  once  o'er  Nature,  Time,  and  Fate; 

By  me  each  being  is  assigned  its  state. 

Imperfect  creatures !  you  aspire  in  vain, 

In  your  own  stations  satisfied  remain." 

Man  still  was  discontented  with  his  place, 

Still  at  their  lot  repined  the  human  race. 

A  learned  Chinese,  grown  old  in  fierce  dispute, 

Who  reason  could  by  argument  confute, 

With  logic  of  Confucius  quite  possessed, 

In  form  to  God  presented  his  request: 

"Why  is  my  time  a  second?    Why  my  space 

A  point?    Why  falls  so  soon  the  human  race? 

*  God  is  called  by  this  name  in  the  Chinese  language. 


298  On  the  Nature  of  Man. 

Why  am  I  not  a  hundred  cubits  high? 
Why  can't  I  travel  swiftly  through  the  sky  ? 
Why  can't  I  teach  the  erring  moon  her  way  ? 
Why  am  I  not  awake  both  night  and  day  ? 
Why  can't  I  prove,  inflamed  by  amorous  fire, 
In  one  month,  of  a  hundred  sons,  the  sire  ? 
Why,  in  one  day,  was  all  my  ardor  past?" 
"Your  questions,"  said  the  God,  "will  always  last: 
Soon  will  your  doubts  and  scruples  all  be  o'er, 
For  truth  you  must  the  ideal  world  explore." 
Even  then  an  angel  bore  him  from  the  place, 
Far  as  the  centre  of  unbounded  space ; 
O'er  suns,  which  circling  planets  still  surround, 
Moons,  rings  and  comets,  which  no  limits  bound 
A  globe  he  entered,  where  the  hand  divine 
Of  nature's  God  had  traced  his  great  design ; 
The  eye  can  there  each  real  system  scan, 
And  of  each  system  possible  the  plan. 
Now  animating  hopes  the  sage  inspire, 
He  seeks  a  world  made  to  his  heart's  desire : 
He  sought  in  vain ;  the  angel  made  him  know, 
That  what  he  wished  could  ne'er  exist  below ; 
For  could  man,  giant-like,  with  heaven  engage, 
Or  rather  \var  against  right  reason  wage. 
Had  God  extended  in  this  earthly  sphere 
His  life  up  to  his  twenty-thousandth  year, 
This  mass  of  earth  and  water  ne'er  could  find 
Room  for  the  overgrown,  gigantic  kind. 
Reasons  like  these  the  cavillers  confound, 
He  owns,  each  being  has  its  proper  bound ; 


On  the  Nature  of  Man.  299 

That  'tis  a  folly  to  aspire  below, 
Since  life  and  pleasure  both  their  limits  know ; 
That  man  should  not  of  grief  or  toil  complain, 
And  less  of  death,  which  frees  him  from  his  chain : 
That  he  should  not  fatigue  the  heavenly  throne, 
Since  to  the  Almighty  change  was  never  known. 
Convinced,  not  satisfied,  the  sage  his  flight 
Bent  to  the  earth,  and  owned  that  all  is  right ; 
But  still  he  murmured,  'midst  the  earthly  throng, 
A  doctor  never  can  be  in  the  wrong. 
More  flexible  was  Matthew  Garo's  mind, 
To  praise  for  all  things  God  his  soul  inclined. 
Perhaps  God  erst  on  men  more  wealth  bestowed, 
Perhaps  their  plains  with  milk  and  honey  flowed ; 
The  night,  perhaps,  was  lightsome  as  the  day, 
And  winter  bloomed  with  all  the  flowers  of  May ; 
Whilst  man,  the  king  of  earth,  in  peace  retired, 
Wrapt  up  in  self,  himself  alone  admired. 
But  let  us  rest  contented  with  our  fate, 
Our  bliss  is  suited  to  our  present  state : 
Against  our  Maker  murmurs  must  prove  vain, 
Mortals  should  not  the  laws  of  God  arraign: 
Let  us  to  serve  him  all  our  lives  employ, 
And  gratefully  the  bliss  he  gives,  enjoy. 
If  to  two  days  the  Almighty  had  confined 
The  time  allotted  to  all  humankind, 
We  should  to  God  those  two  short  days  consign, 
And  consecrate  the  time  to  love  divine. 
He  who  assiduous  every  call  attends, 
Never  complains  that  life  too  quickly  ends. 


300  On  the  Nature  of  Man. 

A  man  in  little  time  may  sure  live  long, 

This  I  could  prove  by  reasons  very  strong; 

But  authors  should  not  to  instruct  aspire, 

Who  speaks  too  much  is  ever  sure  to  tire. 

Thus  did  my  muse,  in  simple,  artless  strain, 

And  various  tones,  strive  nature  to  explain ; 

Whilst   Frenchmen   wandered,   and,   with   piercing 

eyes, 

At  Quito  hoped  to  see  new  stars  arise ; 
Whilst  Maupertuis  and  Clairaut  Europe  praised, 
And  Lapland  at  their  new  meridian  gazed ; 
While  rival  of  the  old  Prometheus  fame, 
Vacanson  brings  to  man  celestial  flame, 
Boldly  to  copy  nature's  self  aspires, 
And  bodies  animates  with  heavenly  fires. 
Remote  from  cities,  on  Parnassus'  shore 
I  passed  my  days,  intent  on  learned  lore ; 
And  from  the  sphere,  where  Milton,  unconfined, 
At  pleasure  roved,  where  pierced  great  Newton's 

mind, 

I  saw  them  soar,  with  emulation  fired, 
Genius  sublime  and  arts  my  soul  admired; 
Slanderers  in  me  beheld  their  foes  professed, 
Fanatics  wild,  informers  I  detest; 
I  know  no  envy,  or  perfidious  art, 
I  worship  God  with  pure  and  upright  heart ; 
And  though  my  body's  with  diseases  spent, 
My  active  mind  on  study  is  intent; 
I  live  convinced  that  while  we  here  remain, 
To  hope  for  perfect  happiness  is  vain. 


ON   MODERATION    IN  ALL 
THINGS. 


FOOLS  by  excess  make  varied  pleasures  pall, 
The  wise  man's  moderate,  and  enjoys  them  all; 
Pleasure  and  business  to  combine  he  knows, 
And  makes  joy  terminate  in  due  repose. 
To  all  things  no  one  mortal  can  aspire, 
From  early  youth  to  know  was  your  desire: 
Nature's  your  book,  you  strive  with  curious  eye 
In  nature  more  than  others  to  descry, 
Guided  by  reason  nature  try  to  sound, 
But  set  to  curiosity  a  bound. 
Stop  on  infinity's  dread  verge  thy  course, 
And  pry  not  into  nature's  awful  source, 
Reaumur  and  Buffon  who  with  piercing  sight, 
Athwart  her  veil  discerned  truth's  sacred  light, 
Cannot  by  philosophic  process  state 
The  wondrous  laws  by  which  plants  vegetate. 
Was  it  e'er  known  to  the  profoundest  sage 
Why  panthers,  tigers,  and  why  vipers  rage? 
Wherefore  to  man  the  dog  still  lifts  his  eyes, 
And  licks  his  feeder's  hand  before  he  dies? 
Why  on  a  hundred  legs,  with  motion  slow, 
Does  yonder  insect  ever  trembling  go? 
3°' 


302         On  Moderation  in  all  Things. 

Why  does  the  reptile  which  entombed  now  lies, 

Revived,  from  thence  with  a  new  body  rise  ? 

Why  does  it,  crowned  like  flame,  ascending  spring, 

And  in  the  air  expand  its  gorgeous  wing  ? 

Can  even  Dufay,  whose  head  with  plans  is  filled, 

Dufay  in  vegetables  deeply  skilled, 

Tell  why  the  plant,  which  sensitive  we  name, 

Shrinks  from  the  touch  of  man  its  trembling  frame  ? 

Languid  with  sickness,  on  your  bed  reclined, 

From  Sylva's  eloquence  relief  you  find,_ 

He  makes  the  tortured  patient  cease  to  groan, 

To  him  the  happy  art  to  please  is  known. 

Can  Sylva's  self  the  economy  explain 

\Vhich  works  digestion,  and  makes  food  sustain? 

How  the  bile  through  so  many  channels  flows, 

How,  by  degrees,  it's  filtrated,  and  goes 

To  pour  into  my  veins  a  purple  tide, 

By  wrhich  both  strength  and  spirits  are  supplied, 

Which  makes  the  pulse  of  life  incessant  beat, 

And  makes  the  brain  intelligence's  seat? 

Lost  in  amaze,  he  lifts  to  heaven  his  eye 

And  bids  you  for  the  truth  to  God  apply. 

Return,  Maupertuis,  to  these  realms  of  light, 

From  realms  where  half  the  year  day's  hid  in  night ; 

You,  who  alone  the  praise  of  Newton  share, 

WTio  know  the  truth,  the  truth  to  man  declare. 

You  who  forego  in  search  of  knowledge  ease, 

Who  traverse  mountains,  and  who  pass  the  seas, 

Who  could  the  mind  and  body's  toil  sustain, 

WTio  could  our  planet's  figure  ascertain ; 


On  Moderation  in  all  Things.         303 

Who  scan  all  nature's  laws  with  minds  profound, 
The  cause  from  whence  attraction  springs  expound. 
To  men  like  you  all  nature's  laws  are  known, 
Tell  me  how,  seated  on  His  heavenly  throne, 
The  great  first  mover  can  with  power  control 
Those  orbs  which  in  the  heavens  incessant  roll, 
Direct  their  motions,  make  them  gravitate 
Towards  each  other  with  responsive  weight  ? 
Why  towards  the  sun  is  this  our  nether  world 
Forever  pulled,  and  round  its  axis  hurled, 
Why  in  twelve  years  does  Jove  the  heavens  go  round, 
Why  of  his  day  is  ten  hours'  space  the  bound  ? 
These  subtle  disquisitions  all  are  vain, 
Mars  measures  heaven,  but  nature  can't  explain. 
Thus  by  sure  art,  and  by  perspective's  law, 
You  may  the  front  of  some  proud  palace  draw, 
Its  architecture's  to  the  eye  revealed, 
The  inside  of  the  structure  is  concealed. 
Why  should  I  grieve  then,  if  my  feeble  sight 
Cannot  pierce  through  this  veil  of  darkest  night? 
I  would  not,  like  Empedocles,  aspire 
To  know  the  nature  of  famed  Etna's  fire, 
Who  to  walk  o'er  sulphurous  vaults  presumed, 
Who  fire  would  know,  and  was  by  fire  consumed, 
Let  then  ambition's  sallies  be  repressed, 
It  is  the  ruling  passion  of  the  breast. 
The  farmer-general  rude,  the  magistrate 
Who  struts  with  the  imperious  airs  of  state, 
All  these  to  court,  contempt  to  suffer  go, 
Contempt  which  they  to  all  at  Paris  show. 

Vol.    1—20 


304         On  Moderation  in  all  Things. 

Even  bards  sometimes  urged  on  by  Phoebus'  flame, 

Have  been  deluded  by  that  phantom  fame, 

Plato  was  Dionysius'  humble  guest, 

Louis  Racine  turned  Jansenist  caressed. 

Horace,  in  loose  and  prostituted  lays, 

Sang  Glycera  and  sold  Octavius  praise. 

At  court  these  pawned  integrity  for  gain, 

But  opulence  and  ease  made  light  their  chain; 

Horace,  the  sage,  with  affluence  lived  blessed, 

Who  grasps  at  all,  is  sure  to  be  distressed. 

You  who  have  introduced  in  Gallia's  court 

All  Sybaris'  luxury  and  wanton  sport, 

Who  even  on  the  down  of  ease  reclined, 

To  luxury  dedicate  the  vacant  mind, 

You  frantic  men,  who  vainly  bliss  pursue, 

Learn  to  enjoy  it,  and  to  know  it  too; 

Pleasure's  the  God  from  whom  we  claim  our  birth. 

Starved  'midst  the  weeds  and  brambles  of  the  earth. 

Pleasures  are  various  in  each  varied  stage 

Of  life,  and  some  we  taste  when  chilled  by  age. 

But  prudently  the  soul  should  feast  on  joy, 

Pleasures  are  always  transient  soon  they  cloy. 

Present  not  to  your  senses  when  they  fail, 

All  the  perfumes  which  Flora  can  exhale ; 

Let  us  not  strive  of  all  joys  to  partake, 

But  let  us  pleasure  quit,  for  pleasure's  sake ; 

Who  labors  hard  true  pleasure  still  obtains, 

I  pity  him  whom  indolence  enchains. 

True  wisdom  yields  true  happiness  below, 

On  earth  no  harvests  without  culture  grow : 


On  Moderation  in  all  Things.        305 

Good  by  laborious  search  must  here  be  sought, 
Success  by  industry  alone  is  bought. 
Behold  Lucullus  critic  in  nice  fare, 
To  supper  from  the  opera  repair, 
Pleasure  in  luxury  he  hopes  to  find, 
But  vapors  still  o'ercast  his  clouded  mind. 
His  soul  o'ervvhelmed,  no  rays  of  light  pervade, 
He  sleeps  supine  in  dark  oblivion's  shade; 
He  grasps  at  joy,  to  rapture  he  aspires 
In  vain ;  he's  dead  to  pleasure  and  desires. 
Caressed  by  ease,  officious  and  o'erlcind 
Pleasure  long  since  on  sloth's  soft  lap  reclined : 
Love,  music,  poetry,  no  more  could  please, 
Man  was  enslaved  by  indolence  and  ease. 
But  God  in  pity  to  man's  helpless  kind 
Labor  with  pleasure,  joy  with  pain's  combined. 
Awaked  by  fear,  man  strives  his  bliss  to  gain ; 
Toil  ever  follows  in  fair  pleasure's  train. 


I^V^WI— 

University  of  Ci 
Southern  Reg 
Library  Fac 


